


Hearts of Kyber

by HastaLux



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Poetaka, Bottom Armitage Hux, Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, Handcuffs, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lightsaber Battles, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Top Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-12 16:39:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16876416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HastaLux/pseuds/HastaLux
Summary: Armitage Hux is one of the best young engineers in the New Republic. While installing his new planetary shield design on Arkanis, his ship is attacked by the First Order, and he finds himself a captive of men just like his father... and a dark Force-wielder, who might be his best shot at escape.Kylo Ren cannot help but be intrigued by his prisoner. Nearly everyone is afraid of him. Hux is not. Kylo is supposed to interrogate him and then leave him for reconditioning, so Hux will become a useful part of the First Order. But he's never been that good at following orders....(For the Kylux Big Bang 2018. All awesome art provided by QueenStardust, who you can find @QueenStardust on Tumblr or @queenstardust2 on Twitter.)





	1. The Engineer's Shield

Armitage Hux is doing his very best not to preen openly. They’ve let him on the dais- he’s not giving the speech, of course, he’s _only_ an engineer- the lead engineer, to those who are paying attention- but being on the dais wearing his deep navy dress uniform, gold and white trim shining brilliantly, with all the senators and other persons of import who’ve turned out to see his creation come to life… it feels like he’s finally found the place he’s meant to be.

The shield design is immaculate, of course. Far better than what the Imperials, for all their technological might, had achieved on Scarif and several of their other worlds. This utilizes rigorously segmented sectional control, creating shipping lanes, travel patterns that can be safely watched- even if the planet is being attacked on one side, small holes can be opened for evacuation or defensive launches.

All of that, however, is window dressing. The real benefit of his design is a closely kept secret, officially known to only to the security committee of the Senate and what passes these days for the highest echelon of the New Republic military.

The shield can be weaponized.

It is a last resort mechanism, of course. Everyone had been clear about that. But Armitage feels a deep sense of personal satisfaction in knowing he built it. And with it, he’s just made Hosnian Prime the safest planet in the galaxy.

He can’t help but have a little bit of smug pride about it. No one had expected much of him. An Imperial child of an Imperial father who made a mess of things at every turn, Armitage had spent over a decade digging himself out of a hole the shape of Brendol Hux. Only recently had Hux become his _own_ name. A name that meant more than idiocy and mistakes. A name he was no longer ashamed to see on a uniform.

He’d clawed his way up, through questionable schooling and a decided lack of mentors, to the New Republic’s Galactic Defense Administration. It was an answer to the Old Republic’s Special Weapons Administration, and the Advanced Weapons Research division of the Imperial Army. The focus, ostensibly, remained on defence- the New Republic has a policy of general disarmament, after all. Peace is the new strategy, not war.

But Mon Mothma had been the primary proponent of that plan, and she is long out of office, her pacifist ideology forgotten. Armitage has more than a few colleagues who served in all three iterations of the great power of the galaxy, men and women who remember Krennic and Erso. Engineers who had built shields and ships- and cannons and Death Stars.

Weapons will _always_ be a factor.

Armitage is glad the Senate had finally recognized the truth of it. Let them call for peace, let them build defenses instead of ships.

Meanwhile, they must never forget to be ready for an onslaught.

He wonders how many of them truly grasp the weapon’s potential and how many are simply playing along for political points so they can say they supported it whenever its use is finally warranted. No doubt some of the less trustworthy have already spilled the truth of it to their cronies, and they in turn to those they wish to impress. It’s part of the plan, really. If people know Hosnian Prime can launch such an effective counter-attack, it will serve as a potent deterrent. And those that know will forever be questioning if any subsequent shields produced by the Defense Administration contain the same power.

Ideally, they’ll never have to test how effective of a deterrent it is.

The Senate’s reception after the speech is a lavish affair, full of the most important players in galactic politics, finance, and manufacturing. Armitage has already received four separate offers for his services, along with copious compensation. He politely demurs each one. People assume it’s some sense of altruism, an obligation to the protection of the galaxy as a whole instead of whomever can pay the most for it, but that’s not entirely true. There’s simply things he can do in this position that he cannot do anywhere else.

Things that specifically include the woman who approaches him quietly, after the initial round of false fawning is finished. “It’s well done, Armitage.”

“General Organa.” He offers a suitably thin smile- no one watching would think that this was anything other that a brief courtesy conversation, nor that they had ever met previously. “I’m glad you had the opportunity to see it.”

“Well, they can only keep me out of the Senate when it’s in session,” she says with a quiet smirk. Quite true. They might have been able to kick her out of her seat, but it hadn’t done a hell of a lot to dissuade her influence. There are even some senators that recognize her Resistance organization as a legitimate political entity, though those are outnumbered by the pacifist moderates and a small coterie Armitage has been reliably informed are working with the remote First Order. “Do you have what we discussed?”

“Indeed. A moment.” He waits for a waiter to pass with a tray of little bites- several of which are patently unconsumable by a human digestive system- and plucks one off, palming a small data stick under it to hand to Leia. “All yours.”

“Thank you.” Another waiter passes to refill their drinks, and Leia is silent until he departs. He’s never questioned her ability to have arguably classified conversations in public without anyone seeming to pay them much attention. Gossip has told him some people think it’s part of her nefarious Jedi legacy, but those same individuals also claim she can read minds and control anyone she wants at will, so he doesn’t place much stock in it. “So this is modelled on Scarif?”

He nods- this is a subject on which Armitage could speak at some length, though only his assistant, Dopheld Mitaka, had been so indulgent with him. “One of the more useful concepts they refined.”

“True.” She beckons him to walk with her to the balcony. Hosnian Prime is a world of high buildings, though not so high as Coruscant- the views are spectacular, all long lines and spires and distant flecks of green and blue and amber. “I was there, you know.”

“On Scarif?”

“Above it.” She looks distant for a long moment. He can’t imagine. The story is quite legendary amongst a certain cadre of those either interested in either Imperial research or Rebel heroics. He has personally heard Poe Dameron dramatically recite the tale, complete with tears, on six separate occasions. Her braid bounces when she shakes the thought off. “Your version has a bit more teeth, of course.”

“Yes.” He can’t suppress his self-satisfied smile. “That was rather the idea.”

“This means quite a lot to us, you know. I know it will take a bit to implement… but when the war comes, a lot of lives will be saved because of technology like this.”

“I hope so.” That the war was coming- another war, and he could still remember quite enough of the last one- had never been in doubt. Not with his father… as he was. _May he burn in a hell of his own design_. He takes a long sip of his drink, lets the burn run down his throat. “You’ll have to obtain the components yourselves of course. Not easy to come by.” He had, in fact, used much of the remainder of the Republic’s stash of kyber- discovered in a former Imperial supply warehouse- to manage this incarnation.

“No… but we have our sources. And a great deal of hope.”

“Not something that powers electrical cores, sadly.” Armitage shoots a sideways grin at her- this is an exchange they’ve had before, and it had not always been stated in jest. He does think Leia puts a bit more trust in hope than is reasonable. He prefers to trust in technology and skill, himself. Then again, she was the one who took him aside after they met when she toured his engineering academy and told him the New Republic would always have a place for brilliant minds, no matter who their fathers were. _No matter what they’d done in the past._ So maybe there is something to be said for the utility of good instincts in the long run.

He has the sense, suddenly, that someone is watching him. His head turns subtly. Carise Sindian, the woman who had, by Leia’s telling of it, engineered her fall from the Senate, is watching him with a predatory gaze over the top of a rather full glass of wine. As soon as they make eye contact, however, she’s turning and smiling at someone else vapidly, like it was simply a fluke and the gaze wasn’t toward him at all.

Leia must realize something’s distracting him, she turns, a small frown creasing her lips. “She’s more observant than she usually likes to let on.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“I’m afraid you will have to excuse me, Armitage. Before we draw anyone else’s eye.”

“Of course, General. Let me know if your team has any trouble decrypting the plans.”

Her hand squeezes his arm, briefly, one of the fonder gestures she can offer, considering they’ve taken measures to keep their association confidential. “Thank you.”

Carise moves off well before Leia gets across the room, the pair of them circling each other with a certain sort of predatory hunger. Perhaps Carise had been looking at Leia, and not at Armitage at all. It wouldn’t be the first time he assumed some attention was given to him when it was not.

Self-flattery. Armitage does not lie to himself that he has an enormous ego. And, in his own opinion, it’s mostly justified. For all the hoops he had to leap through to get access to what remains of the Imperial Technological Planning Archive, he had certainly made it worth the Republic’s while once he got in.

He also has a tendency to assume people are attracted to him, not that he often indulges. His work comes first, and the more import his projects gain the more he must worry that anyone trying to bed him is also trying to get him to share his plans. Corporate espionage, mostly. Eirriss Ryloth Defense Tech had sent a lovely female Twi’lek trained as a dancer to _seduce_ him, though he remained unclear on whether she was meant to be the payment if he turned over some of his designs or if there would also be credits involved. Either way, they’d bet on the wrong gender, and he’d turned her away with a graceful smile and a referral to the more rambunctious of the pilot quarters, where she might earn back any credits she’d lost on him.

Though the shield plans are fairly mundane, they are well-protected in the vaults of the Republic’s defensive technology laboratories and fabrication plants. Protocols had been put into place following several incidents with even senators’ consoles being sliced. A thief could get at those if they were persistent, but they’d never realize they were missing a core piece. Especially not since even the existence of the weapon is, theoretically, a closely guarded secret. Outside of the research division and their extremely well-secured private data core, only Armitage personally has a copy of the entirety of the schematic. Well, two copies. One is on a heavily encrypted datapad that he keeps in a safe in his office.

And one in his head.

It’s about as safe as they can make it.

He wanders back in to smile tepidly around the room and refill his drink a few more times. Lead Director Lenix, the New Republic’s head of scientific research, pulls Armitage aside as the reception breaks up. “A word, Director Hux?”

The title still makes him giddy. He is one of the youngest directors- by relative longevity of species- the Republic has ever had. The Empire too, in fact, though Krennic started his tenure not far off. “Of course, sir.”

Lenix is a Twi’lek, a male who often gets more done with a single flash of his sharpened teeth in a smile than any human could manage with shouted orders and threats. “I understand you have not taken any holiday time since the project began.”

“It would have been detrimental to leave it, sir. At any stage.” And, truth be told, Armitage is not precisely skilled at relaxing.

“An admirable work ethic. I am wondering, however, if I might combine your need for a brief break- yes, even though you do not agree that you are in need- with another project requiring your particular skills.”

Armitage lifts a coppery-red brow. “You have my attention.”

“The second prototype. The senators have discussed it in private, and Senator Sindian has made a particularly insistent case that it should be installed on Arkanis.”

He blinks. “Why Arkanis?”

“Well, they’re prosperous now, aren’t they? So I suppose she can afford to buy a little affection from her colleagues. Either way- we need a second test site, and the senate, with a bit of encouragement from Senator Sindian, wants it to be Arkanis. I would like you to oversee it, and during the initial period where the equipment and building platforms are being assembled, you can use your downtime and visit your homeworld.”

It’s said in a tone that suggests _of course_ Armitage would like to visit his homeworld. Of course he would. Who wouldn’t.

_I promised myself I wouldn’t set foot on that hellhole ever again._

Still. It’s a project in which he will be fully in charge. The highest peak of supervisory power. The title of Director, all his.

He can probably manage returning to Arkanis for that. Especially if he’ll spend most of it in orbit. _At least they didn’t tell me to install it on Coruscant._ “Will our special alteration be in this model?”

“Yes- and that’s what Sindian was most insistent on. Arkanis is so close to the outer rim- they never know what they’ll get out there, she said. So. Might be they have more need of it than we do here. Either way, it’s a perfectly satisfactory testing site.”

“It will use the rest of our kyber,” Armitage says delicately.

“Yes. That’s something we’ll have to deal with separately, but I’ve put out the word to Intelligence to let us know if they come across any. We can always hope the Empire left some more sitting out somewhere.”

“Very well.”

Lenix gives him a departure schedule. They’ll be taking all the spare parts already fabricated as part of the first shield to accelerate the timetable, but the rest will be constructed in orbit.

Armitage will handle the weapon installation himself, very quietly.

Preparations take just under a month. A Republic cruiser with ample room in its hold now that there is no war and no need for a massive stock of star fighters and missiles will take the material resources, metal and cable and the like. Armitage slips on board and stows the kyber in one of the command shuttles while no one is looking. It’s a good place for it, considering he’ll be the one most likely to use the shuttle to check on the progress of the shield.

Fortunately a small amount of kyber goes a long way, otherwise people might notice. In fact, he’s fairly certain some people are looking. Namely a certain senator that catches him in the corridor just beyond the hangar.

“Director Hux,” Carise Sindian purrs at him. He resists the urge to roll his eyes and plasters a sufficiently cordial smile to his lips.

“Lady Carise- my apologies, _Senator_ Sindian.” It’s a low tactic, but Armitage has never cared for the woman. Her games had set in motion the events that removed Leia from the Senate. She was lucky Leia had only retaliated by getting her nobility stripped from her. “ To what do we owe the honor?”

Carise’s smile edges into a sneer briefly before she schools it back into the blood-red veneer of a career politician. “I am simply seeing to my own belongings before we depart.”

“Your belongings?”

“Oh yes. I’m coming with you. Someone must show the people of Arkanis how strongly the Republic feels about protecting them.”

Something in her smile makes Armitage think it might be her they need protecting from. “Of course. Well, I-” He’s already gearing up to shift past her when she slides over just enough to cut him off.

“And of course I know about your… little project.” She leans closer, dark eyes batting in a pointed fashion. “Might I be able to solicit… a demonstration?”

 _Ah. Of course._ Carise no doubt wants to increase her own standing by getting a show even her fellow senators aren’t aware of, and then bragging to them about it. Unfortunately for her, her chosen strategy is not the most efficient manner of gaining it, especially not with him. “I’m afraid not. It is classified, senator. Any discussion of such matters really out to be occurring in a more private setting.”

Let her think he’s interested. That could always serve him later, if they need to drag any resources out of Arkanis to finish the project. It’s already occurred to him that there may be a small stash of kyber somewhere in the old Imperial academies. Seems like the sort of place it could end up.

Carise’s brow flicks up, her smile increasing. “Very good, Director Hux.”

He lets himself breathe a sigh of relief as she passes. Thank the stars the trip will not be that long. Armitage is not sure how long he might last if he has to play nice with her on a daily basis, as he no doubt will be expected to while they are in transit.

It’s a small price to pay, however, to bring his greatest work to a new planet.

 

***

 

The lightspeed travel passes without much issue. He plays nice with Carise, formal dinners and the like, but always finds an excuse not be caught alone with her. Fortunately, his chief aide is excellent for that. Mitaka follows him around with an extreme amount of diligence as he maps out the deployment of their gear and the structures they’ll need to build to serve as hubs during the shield construction. He’s an eager sort- Armitage thinks of him as something of a younger brother, particularly since he knows from reading the personnel files that Mitaka’s parents were Imperials as well. Officers, like Armitage’s father. Some of the many, many personnel absorbed into the Republic when the Galactic Concordance was signed and Imperial officers were allowed to surrender and, so long as they kept to the terms of the agreement, remain free.

His own father had not been quite so wise on the matter.

“Shift the lattice beams to bay four,” Armitage dictates to Mitaka as they glide around confirming their inventories. “We’ll need those early on, it won’t do to have them buried behind the cores.”

There’s a brief hiccup when they pass the hangar- the small complement of X-Wings assigned as their nominal protection detail- primarily for the journey there, as one never knew anymore what pirates might be lurking in hyperspace corridors- and Mitaka freezes. Hux follows his eyes across the room to find Poe Dameron, laughing with the other pilots and playing sabacc. They’re all in flight uniforms, as is usual- they must be ready to deploy at any time- and judging from Mitaka’s face, he’s not terribly opposed to the custom.

“Dopheld.”

Mitaka’s eyes flash to Armitage, nerves radiating palpably.

Armitage speaks calmly, like he’s calming a skittish animal. “You can talk to him.”

The younger man shakes his head slowly. “No- no, that’s alright, he’s….”

“He’s probably the easiest person to speak to on this entire ship, Dopheld. You talk to me all the time and I am a known arsehole. _He_ is actually friendly. Talk to Dameron, Dopheld.”

Mitaka squeaks a negative and Armitage sighs, moving on. Fine. Let the boy stew in his own pining, if that’s what he wants. He’s certainly not going to force Mitaka to get over his painful degree of insecurity when it comes to pilots and the attractiveness thereof. Besides, Armitage is not providing any sort of example in these matters- for him, the work will always come first. A dalliance from time to time can relieve the distraction of _need_ , and he has never been interested in more than that.

There’s drinks and snacks in the viewport rooms when the cruiser drops out hyperspace over Arkanis. A large number of the crew has never been, and Armitage has heard no end of excited chatter about using upcoming shore leaves to swim in the vast oceans. He can’t blame them, some of them are from planets with no oceans at all.

For Armitage himself, however, he’s already decided he has no intention of actually touching the surface, his strongly advised shore leave be damned.

And despite the increasingly insistent invitations from Senator Sindian as they begin construction.

He can’t tell what the woman’s game is- she seems to vacillate from wanting to get him alone for overtly sexual purposes to nosing about his plans. Sometimes both. He’d thought it some manner of power-play, seeing as she must be looking for ways to secure her position without the backing of the royal houses behind her, their support lost to her own games. Really, she shouldn’t have taken on Leia directly and expected to come out unscathed. Still, if she has some idea of securing Armitage’s devotion and molding him into her creature, she’s going to be sorely disappointed.

The more worrying option is that she has some ideas of selling his plans off to the highest bidder. He wouldn’t put it past her. The woman is far more conniving than she lets on, but she’s no engineer. Which leaves a black-market sale of his plan.

What corporation has access to enough kyber to even bother?

He’s been avoiding her entirely while he debates the issue. Perhaps, if there is such an entity, it’s the same corporation as Leia’s source for the Resistance shieldweapon. If not, there may be a way to order it confiscated by the Republic, on the grounds that no one wants a repeat of the Death Star.

Perhaps he should entertain Sindian’s advances more directly after all, if it would help get him access to that. _I could make it mine. Mine to build as many shields as we can._

_Then perhaps there would be no more wars._

Armitage is looking over the plans for the construction platform he’s planning to use as a base for his weapon, ensuring he’ll have a quiet, private place to work, when Sindian holocomms him again.

“Director Hux, I’m almost surprised you’re taking my comms now.”

Armitage puts on an amicable smile. “My apologies, Senator. It’s a busy effort, getting these these sorts of projects started.”

“Mm, I’m sure. Might you be able to come planetside? We’ve a meeting come up, and it would be lovely to have you speaking for the Republic.”

“I don’t know that I am a suitable ambassador for the Republic, Senator. After all, I’m merely an engineer.” Armitage’s smile turns vapid. Mitaka, who is holding the holo generator for him, bites his lip to keep from laughing. “I am sure you are more suited to that purpose.”

“But it will help to have a face to put to the matter. Could you come down?”

Armitage’s mind churns rapidly. He could. Possibly. “When?”

“Today, actually. As soon as possible.” She almost looks nervous.

 _Why should you be nervous, Senator?_ “Today? Next cycle, perhaps, but that’s a bit short notice-”

“Today would very much be preferable.”

Armitage stands straighter. Her tone is a bit sharp, a bit... nervous. He doesn’t like being pressed like that, not by anyone he doesn’t work for. “No, Senator, tomorrow at the earliest, I’m afraid. There is simply too much to do.”

“Oh, very well then, tomorrow. You can’t say I didn’t try!” She laughs. Too much. He frowns as the comm cuts. _Very strange._

He’s still lost in thought as he makes his way onto the bridge to discuss the hangar deck rotas with the ship’s commander. Keldan is an old hand, a former Rebel Alliance X-Wing pilot with a remarkably low tolerance for banthashit. The quiet on the bridge hardly draws his attention, nor the way the crew all seems focused on the viewport. “Commander, I am hoping I can borrow-”

The sight outside the viewport steals the words from his mouth. A single star destroyer looms in the black of space, a bevy of TIE fighters pouring out of it like insects. “What in the karking hells is a star destroyer doing here?”

“Ma’am, we’re being hailed,” the comm officer chirps nervously.

The commander steps closer, Armitage at her shoulder. “Put it through.”

“Attention New Republic vessels. This is General Canady of the First Order. Our TIEs are now surrounding you, and I assure you that we have you outgunned. Do not make any move to escape or you will be fired upon. We will be boarding you shortly.”

Mitaka sidles up behind Hux, eyes huge. “Is this real, sir?” Hux shushes him with a finger. He’s heard all about the dangers of the First Order from General Organa… and he’s beginning to suspect he knows what Senator Sindian intended to do with his plans.

“Have they launched a shuttle yet?” Keldan whips around, pulling up a tactical screen. “I want an ETA on any boarding parties- all personnel must get armed immediately and expect incoming fire. Anyone who cannot fight should prepare for evacuation. And get a message to the Republic-”

Armitage grabs Mitaka by the collar and drags him off the bridge, thrusting his personal datapad into his chest. “Dopheld. I need you to take this and get to shuttle bay two. You need the shuttle in berth three. The secondary command shuttle. Can you fly it?”

“I, er.” Dopheld almost vibrates from nerves, his eyes wide. “No, I don’t think-”

“Fine. Get Captain Dameron. He has to fly you out. Make him if you have to- I don’t care if you have to promise him the most sordid thing you can think of- you, that datapad, and that shuttle need to get the kark out of here and right back to….” _Kriff. Lenix had told him to come, told him to play nice with Sindian. What if he’s in on it?_  Armitage can’t take that risk. He taps the datapad and engages the protocol for it to respond to Mitaka’s biometrics. “There’s coordinates on here- you need to go there. Go there and meet with Leia Organa, do _not_ return to Hosnian Prime. Do you understand me?”

Mitaka looks pale with terror. Armitage almost feels bad for making him so scared. “Ah- yes, sir.”

“And- Dopheld.”

“Yes?”

“Anyone you pass on the way to the hangar, anyone from our team- order them to go with you. Evacuate whoever you can. _Order_ them, you understand me?”

“Yes sir.” Armitage turns to head back to the bridge. If he’s right, they want _him_ , though they might not know it yet. “Sir?” He turns. Mitaka looks pleadingly earnest. “Will you- will you be coming with us?”

He purses his lips. _Maker, I wish it were so easy._ “No. Myself and what’s on that shuttle- and those plans in your hands- they have to go separately.” _Split the information. Safer, if one set is lost._ “Go, Dopheld. I’ll be arranging for a second shuttle following right behind.” He forces a confident smile, and Dopheld seems to buy it. “Find Dameron. Tell him he gets to rescue a damsel in distress, he’ll be thrilled.”

Mitaka runs off, glancing back one last time like he’s afraid he won’t see Armitage again.

_You will. This will be fine. The Republic doesn’t like a fight, but this is a direct assault on their personnel…. They have to do something._

_Don’t they?_

“Commander,” Armitage strolled back onto the bridge, a mask of perfect confidence on his face. If it weren’t for his engineer’s work clothes he would easily be mistaken for an officer. _And wouldn’t daddy be proud of that,_ his brain supplies snidely. “What can I do to assist?”

She sighs. “I know your lot is technically military, but can any of you actually shoot?”

Armitage smiles thinly. “Yes, though I make no promises for skill.” _Except for myself._

“We’ll work with what we have. Get to the armory. There’s no way in karking hell we’re getting out of this without being boarded- best chance is to hold them off until the Republic can get some ships with actual weapons out here. Apparently the local Arkanian fleet will _not_ be coming to assist, so we have to buy the real cavalry some time.”

Armitage moves. The commander is right, the ship is under-defended. One X-Wing squadron is nothing compared to the flock of TIEs a Star Destroyer can unleash, and the cruiser had been stripped of most of its guns as part of the Republic’s pro-peace measures.

_Yes, I’m sure it’s very peaceful as it gets incinerated into dust._

The saving grace seems to be that the destroyer itself isn’t firing. It could have absolutely shredded them with missiles by now if they wanted to. Even the shuttle that must be carrying Dameron and Mitaka, seeing as it races out of the hangar without permissions or anything resembling a safe launch speed before it evades several TIEs and jumps to hyperspace, is only fired on with disabling shots, not ones meant to kill.

_Curious._

He collects any stray personnel he can find, ordering the civilians to the evacuation sites. There’s a low hum outside of ship-to-ship fire. It must be the shuttle. Armitage hopes they got far enough out before they were seen that they weren’t in range. The First Order wants something. And if they’re anything like the Empire, as Armitage has heard it, they don’t care what they have to carve through to get it. People. Planets. All fair game.

Unfortunately for them, the one useful thing Brendol Hux ever taught him was proper marksmanship.

 _Maybe I should have done the officer’s training,_ he thinks with a note of dark amusement as the lower level personnel quickly fall into step with him, hardly questioning why an engineer, even a Director level one, is giving them orders.

Weapons distributed to those who can use them, and shield barrier generators to those who are less confident, Hux comms up to the bridge.

“Commander, what entry points are they most likely to use?”

“A full-size shuttle would have to use the aft hangar entry, unless they have a- what the kriff. There’s some sort of fancy TIE that just sliced through a gap in our shields. Landing in bay 4.”

Armitage turns to his makeshift security squadron. “Alright, bay 4- this karking idiot is probably here to destroy our escape routes, so let’s make sure we keep our ships safe and take him out.”

They run as a unit to the hangar. The TIE- not a model Armitage has ever seen before- sits silent and ominously open as they come around the corner, weapons drawn. “Has anyone see the pilot?” Hux breathes.

A low hiss is all the warning they get.

There’s a flash of red, the sharp thud and grunts of someone slammed into the durasteel wall. A few of the impromptu defense force run off immediately. Some of the ones closest fire, not taking any heed of their aim, just backing up and firing until the creature- the man?- lifts them with a flick of his wrist and sends them across the hanger, crumpled in a pile.

Armitage inhales, ducking behind a column and fumbling for his comm. “Keldan. They have a Sith. Get everyone out. I repeat, they have a Sith. Seal the hangar and run.” He jogs further into the hangar, away from the combat but where he has a better line of sight on the ship.

_Alright. Dopheld is out. He and Dameron have what they need- this fool won’t get that. Not from me. Force or not._

He turns his rifle not on the Sith in question, still tearing a line through what’s left of his team, but on the TIE. _If your friends blow us up, then you’re stuck with us, bantha fucker._ He’s guessing at the exact location of the ion engine- small ships were never his favorite subject of study- but he knows he’s got a hit when the damn thing ruptures, shooting fire across the room.

_Try flying out of here now, arsehole._

Ducking behind a stack of durasteel framing parts for the orbital shield, Armitage can peer through a narrow gap as the hulking monster in the black and silver mask walks casually through the smoke and sputtering ash of his ruined ship.

“That was clever,” his voice rumbles through a vocoder, deep and resonant. “And also very stupid.” The durasteel begins to vibrate. Armitage skitters backward like it’s burning. “Because now I know where you are.”

When the huge rods fly, Armitage hits the ground out of self-preservation, rolling immediately onto his back and using their momentum to push him clear. He didn’t go through years and years of his father’s brutal training regimen without learning a few things. Sliding backwards on the floor, he swings his rifle around and fires as soon as he has a clear line.

The bolt stops a hand-span away from the Sith’s mask.

Armitage feels his gut clench. Well. If he was going to die fighting a Sith… _might as well make a proper show of it._

He flips the gun’s switch to automatic fire and clenches the trigger.

A burning red erupts from the Sith’s hand. _Lightsaber._ Armitage has never seen one up close, but he’d looked at plans for them in his studies of kyber.

_It’s beautiful._

The blade whirls through the air, batting away every bolt Armitage can fire in a dizzying display, scattering fiery scorchmarks throughout the hangar. Finally he manages to send one back with deadly accuracy toward Armitage himself, forcing the ginger to roll out of the way, just clearing as his jumpsuit is singed up the shoulder in a hot line. If Armitage happened to yelp, he’d never admit it.

He turns to swing onto his back and open fire again, but there’s something pressing him forcibly against the floor, forbidding him from moving- from even getting his finger back on the trigger. _What the-_

“You’re a brave one, aren’t you,” the vocoder rasps at him. “Still fighting.” There’s a _yank_ and Armitage realizes he’s flying through the air, stopped hard by a leather-gloved hand around his throat. The mask is obviously meant to be terrifying- up close, it’s easy to see the marks of battle on it. It reminds Armitage of holos he’s seen of Vader- perhaps it’s a Sith thing. An effort at intimidation.

Armitage sneers instead.

The mask tilts. “You aren’t frightened.”

“Not by anyone who hides behind a mask,” Armitage hisses.

The Sith pulls him closer. If Armitage leans forward any further, his nose would hit the mask. A pressure licks across his mind, _reaching…._ “The Sith are dead, Director.”

Armitage levels as hard a kick as he can manage at the apparently not-Sith’s midsection, his work boots hitting hard and sturdy leather. “Out of my head, you fu-”

The hand closes a bit tighter around his throat, cutting off his words. “You sent away the plans for your shield, didn’t you. I see….” Armitage growls a furious reply, a very clear _yes and get karked._ It takes a moment for him to realize the noise he can hear from the vocoder is a laugh. “Very clever. But I don’t need the plans. I have you.”

His eyes widen. _No- no, the Sith is meant to kill him, then the weapon is safe-_

“No one is safe, Director Hux.”

Armitage drops his hands from their clinging grip about the man’s black-clad wrist and puts every remaining bit of air and energy he has into fighting, punching into the tendons of the arm that’s holding him and propelling himself up with a boot to the man’s chest. With his other hand he reaches into his work belt, pulling out his precision welder and swinging it forward as he drops to the floor, carving a line across the Sith’s- Jedi’s- _whatever’s_ \- stomach. There’s a grunt through the vocoder and the man _moves_ , faster than Armitage would have expected, grabbing his wrist and yanking it to the side until he has Armitage backwards, pinned with his spine against the black cloth. It’s damp, Armitage can feel it dripping through his jumpsuit. _Got you, fucker._ At least he made the man bleed before he died.

“Not today, Director,” the vocoder rumbles in his ear. “ _Sleep.”_

He feels his body crumple against his will into strong arms, the welder hitting the floor with a sizzling pang as the world goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta, @penny-riled, for all the support and assistance!


	2. Electric Connection

It’s raining.

_ Inside? _

Arkanis. 

_ Oh. _

Armitage walks through the rain, not really feeling it- there’s no damp on his clothes, no water trickling down his face. He holds out a hand, trying to catch it- it lands, but doesn’t seem to stick.

_ I’m dreaming. _

There are ships overhead- X-Wings, all Rebel Alliance craft. Sounds of blaster fire and explosions echo in the distance.

“Armitage!” A hand roughly grabs for his shoulder- except that shoulder is far lower to the ground, and belongs to a small red-headed boy. “Come on- we have to go now.”

“But- Mama!” The boy turns to run, only to be caught by the wrist and dragged bodily toward the landing pad. A shuttle is coming down, not the Alliance’s- a bounty hunter, it had been. Armitage didn’t think he really remembered this that well- he’d been so young. It’s fascinating to watch as an adult.

“Come  _ on, _ boy, we’ve got to get out before they get through to the aca-” He holds an arm in front of his face as the telltale scream of a missile hits the shuttle, the explosion sending it spiralling in fiery pieces to the ground. “Kriffing- shit-” 

They’re running, Brendol plucking Armitage up and carrying him- his legs are too short to keep up on his own- sprinting back toward the Imperial Academy where a number of officers are fortifying the place into some sort of last stand. 

For  _ honor _ , if Armitage remembered correctly. Stupid. 

Nearly all of them had died.

“Halt!” Someone yelled- a bunch of troops in Rebel Alliance gear, leveling blasters, cutting them off from the academy. 

It’s interesting, in this memory- this dream?- Armitage can see Brendol thinking about it. Considering whether he ought to draw his blaster and make a last stand.

If he hadn’t been holding Armitage, he probably would have done it. But a weeping child is such a useful tool to keep them from being shot. 

“I’m going to put you down, son- put your hands up, like this- they’re taking prisoners, but we’re going to be alright. I know there’s an amnesty deal,” he says loudly. “We’re surrendering, alright? I accept the terms.”

Armitage snorts.  _ Liar.  _

Something flits across his vision- a black mark- no, a cloak, fluttering on the other side of the soldiers as they move in to cuff Brendol. They hadn’t cuffed Armitage- they didn’t have anything small enough. 

The Sith is watching.

Armitage feels the world tilt sharply, the memory blurring as he sprints toward the man.

“Get out of my head, you karking  _ arsehole-” _

The world spirals dizzyingly and Armitage falls easily back into darkness.

 

***

 

Though his eyes are certainly open, the room is dark. Armitage blinks. Not blind. Indoors, somewhere. No windows. A low hum, a gentle vibration in the floor, a whir of air above….

_ I’m on a ship. Hyperdrive engaged. _

Which probably means he’s well out of reach of any New Republic rescue parties.

_ Perfect. Just perfect. _

He tries to sit up and his entire body almost immediately throbs in protest.  _ Kriffing Jedi bullshit.  _ It even hurts when he breathes, he notes with an exploratory rub of what must be bruises around his neck. The gentle motion further sets off a searing ache in his shoulder that must be from his own volleyed blast shot. 

_ No bacta, _ he notes as he tests the edge of the wound.  _ Just cauterized.  _

_ Fuck. _ It’s going to leave a hell of a scar.

The lights in the room kick on to full in time with the door sliding open, and Armitage snaps a hand over his eyes with a groan, the sting is so great. _Kriff. Optic adjustment to darkness._ _Stars, how long was I out for?_

“Get him up.” The voice is not familiar, nor are the gloved arms that reach under his and haul him up, connecting with some sort of plasteel at his elbows. The corridor is thankfully dimmer, his eyes feel less painful as he blinks through it, trying to get them to adjust.

The take him somewhere dark grey with a long vertical board, straps and wires attached to it. Those that hold him shove him against it, tying him down, and he realizes two things very quickly. One, those plasteel uniforms look an awful lot like the stormtroopers he knew a very long time ago on Arkanis. 

Two, the other man with them is dressed far too closely to Brendol Hux’s former style, may he rest in flames, for comfort.

As the wires are connected onto him and needles with fluids he does not recognize aimed toward his skin, one further realization sinks in.

_ They’re going to torture me. _

He almost laughs.  _ I suppose I should have tried harder to get that to Sith kill me. _

“Something funny?” His eyes flick up. The man not bearing a stormtrooper’s mask is staring at him almost eagerly. A flicker of discomfort- of fear?- ripples through Armitage’s stomach.

“Merely contemplating how I landed here,” Armitage states dryly. His mouth feels dry, his voice is hoarse. 

“A subject on which we shall be happy to converse with you… Director Hux.” The man smiles like he’s gotten one over on Armitage, but Armitage just lifts a gingery brow.

“Very well. Many years ago, my father employed my mother-”

The man’s brow furrows. “In more relevant terms than that, thank you.”

“Then be more clear with your questions.”

The officer looks like he’s about to say something further- likely order the troopers to go ahead and pump him full of one of their custom pain drugs, if they’re anything like what he remembers of the Empire- when the door opens and a man with a wide face and stout body strides in. “This him, then?”

The other officer snaps to attention and Armitage makes a mental note.  _ Always good to keep tabs on who is in charge. _ “Yes sir. A bit mouthy, but that’s not unexpected.”

“Mmm. There’s no sense of discipline in the Republic, is there, boy.” It takes Armitage a moment to realize that  _ he _ is the boy in this equation. “Don’t mind that. We can fix it.”

Armitage looks between them. “I was not under the impression I required fixing.”

The more senior officer snorts.  “Oh, you do.” He steps forward and flicks one of the needles, spraying Armitage’s arm with liquid. “But before that, we have a few questions.”

“So I’ve gathered.” Armitage sighs. “Well. Shall you go ahead and ask, or should I start with the part where I tell you to piss off and we all go on our merry way?”

The senior officer snorts. “You must get your lip from your mother’s side.”

Eyes narrowing, Armitage contemplates the ramifications of that statement. They are the right age…. “You were Imperial officers. With my father.”

“Mm.” The senior officer strides over and lifts Armitage’s head by his hair, studying his face. “He was a coward, you know, your father. Clever, but weak. Far better as a teacher than an officer.” He lets Armitage’s head fall. “You could have been so much greater than that.”

Armitage makes a derisive noise in the back of his throat.

“I’m not sure that’s true,” the other officer says. “What was it Brendol always said? ‘Thin as a slip of paper and just as useless’.” He smiles viciously.

A burning rage steadily begins to seep in Armitage’s bones, the pain and tiredness he’d been feeling far yanked down in favor of anger. He’d thought his father had only saved that banthashit for him- it hurt far worse that he had told his compatriots how lacking he found his son, even now, years after Brendol had died. “Don’t bother with your questions. I won’t be answering them.”

“You will.” The senior officer gives a nod to the troopers, one of whom heads to the console. Armitage can feel it when the needles pierce his skin, though with the help of his anger he only allots a teeth-bearing grimace. “We are going to ask you some questions about your little prize design, and you will answer them. Then I’m giving you over to Captain Peavey here for reconditioning and we’ll see if we can make anything useful of you.” He taps two fingers in the air. “Start it up.”

 

***

 

The pain is excruciating enough that Armitage thinks for a moment, somewhere in the incoherent mess of his mind, that it’s almost impressive. This could break a weak-willed individual easily- no wonder people were so afraid of getting caught by the Empire. He imagines the First Order has advanced the technology of torture, distantly noting that it must be similar to improvements in starfighters.

Or shields.

He could laugh, the thought it so ridiculous, but it’s possible that his mind is not entirely in control of his body at the moment and it might mistake the action for screaming. 

The high-ranking officers have left the room, handing over the dirty work of the interrogation to lesser individuals, other officers wearing rank markers Armitage doesn’t recognize, and they’ve been at it for hours. Or days. Time is not a clear subject, not in a windowless room on a ship, no sun to gauge the day by, no comforting spin of a planet. They talk and talk and he laughs and screams and lolls his head, eyes blurred by tears.

But he can hear them, discussing, pondering, more and more the longer it goes on.

“He’s resisting more than usual.”

“Can we dose him again?”

“Not for another hour, or he’ll go cardiac on the table.”

“Maker. Canady’s going to be pissed.”

“Wasn’t his father some sort of Imperial bigshot?”

“Yeah. Must be genetic badassery, do you think?”

_ Somehow I imagine that it’s not Brendol’s side that makes me able to bear this. _

“Do you think we should ask….”

“No. Or- you do it.”

There’s a click and a tinny voice on a comm, asking what they need.

“Sir- we aren’t getting anywhere. If the matter is time sensitive, perhaps we should….”

“I’ll have him sent to you.”

The sound of the officer swallowing is audible even to Armitage. “Yes sir. Thank you sir.”

Armitage smiles. He has screamed and cried and wheezed, but he hasn’t broken. And now that he’s realized it, he also knows he won’t. He  _ won’t. _ It doesn’t matter who they send. They can keep him here as long as they like and he won’t, and he’s laughing through a bruised and bloodied face because he knows he’s won. 

They leave him alone for a bit, head hanging, unconsciousness beckoning, but Armitage is just watching the floor, watching the patterns of his own blood on the tile, and wondering if maybe now they’ll just kill him. He won’t be useful to them, he’s proved that.

The door hisses open, and the steps that come in are different. Heavier boots. His eyes flick open and take in the black ensemble and the silver-tinged helmet.

_ Kriff. _

“I understand you are being… difficult,” the Sith- or non-Sith, as he claimed, but Armitage remains skeptical of that fact- rasps through the vocoder. “You have an awful lot of fight in you.”

“Spite is as good as fight. Apparently.” He smiles bloodily. “Here to finish me off?”

“No.” The Sith steps closer, his glove drifting dangerously close, like he means to stroke Armitage’s jaw. Armitage is surprised enough that he does not even manage to say anything snarky about it. “You are not so lucky.”

Armitage has something witty to say, he’s sure of it, but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is a gasp. A low pressure is building inside his skull, ripping into his memories and emotions and-

“Get the kriff  _ out _ ,” he growls at the Sith.

He can almost feel the smile behind the mask. “Manners,” the vocoded voice rumbles back.

There’s pain, so much pain- Armitage pulls back into his head, like he did when he was little, telling himself stories. He blinks-

And he’s on Hosnian Prime, in the chief research laboratory of the Republic. For a moment he pauses, wondering if he’s had some sort of accident and hallucinated the lot of this, from Arkanis to the interrogation- but Mitaka walks by without a word and somehow Armitage knows that this isn’t real. It’s a dream. Or a memory.

He tentatively walks through the lab, searching- no- it’s not him that’s searching, it’s-

In the dream he turns, and there’s the Sith, watching him.

“No,” Armitage growls. “I know what you’re looking for and you can’t have it.”

“We’ll see.” In his dream the vocoder is absent, and the Sith’s voice is unexpectedly smooth and resonant even without the aid of the technology, and there is something suspiciously youthful about it. Armitage wonders if he knows that when he speaks in people’s heads they can hear how he really sounds. 

_ Probably not. Not when he makes all that effort to hide it normally. _

He feels an invasive pull, a ripping sensation through his thoughts, and he knows somewhere his real body is screaming. So he does what he should have done the first time he met this Maker-damned Sith, and  _ runs. _

He sprints through paths on Hosnian Prime, high catwalks and balconies that start to crumble as the Sith tries to force him back, back to what he’s trying to rip out of Armitage’s head.

_ Kriff that. _

Armitage jumps across a crumbling railing and leaps to catch the window of a nearby building, turning round in the frame to offer an extremely rude Arkanian hand gesture to the black-clad intruder as he slips inside and finds-

An old apartment. Shabby, worn, but pristinely organized to the point of being spartan. Heavy boots cross the space as a comm pings an alert, and Armitage reels.

Brendol Hux had put on weight the longer he’d been effectively imprisoned on Coruscant. As a child he had looked enormous to Armitage, who had been a small, thin youth until his height caught up with him later on.

In the dream, Brendol looks even bigger, his mass exaggerated and looming, the apartment’s walls rising up to match what it must have looked like when Armitage had first moved in.

_ Fear. _ It’s overwhelming, even now, even though he knows damn well Brendol is dead and has been for years.

“Is this channel secured?” The voice reverberates around the room. Armitage recognizes it, though he doesn’t think he ever heard it in person. Only late-night chats, when Brendol thought he was asleep.

“Of course. The Republic continues to imagine I am  _ reformed. _ ”

“More fools them.” The woman, dark-skinned, smiles- with pleasant eyes, Armitage remembers as he mind finally summons the image to match the voice. Once or twice he’d woken up hearing voices in the next room, and she had alway greeted him kindly, thoughtfully, even when Brendol cuffed him about the ear and told him to get back in bed.

“Not so foolish as to reduce my monitoring period.”

“Then you must ingratiate yourself. We need you, Commandant. This- you know what manner of creature I am dealing with.”

“Yes. We have no need of another Palpatine.”

“Quite right. His power is only growing- our efforts to maintain the military’s power separately are failing. I need you here. You still hold a great deal of sway with those who remember you.”

Armitage blinks. He remembers this, vaguely. He’d heard part of this conversation, before….

“Boy.” Brendol has turned, staring at him, one hand pointing, the holo of the woman vanished. “What a weak boy. Should have left you to rot.”

His lip curls into a snarl. “Yes. You really should have.” No matter that he knows this isn’t  _ real _ , it feels as though it is. Perhaps he should take the opportunity to find a dream blaster and use it. There might be something cathartic in the act.

He’s not expecting it when a black-gloved hand clasps his shoulder, hard, and spins him. Armitage feels like he’s falling. 

“Show me where the plans are,” the Sith’s forceful voice feels like it’s echoing around him. 

Armitage screams and kicks and the world shifts again as he falls free of the Sith’s hold.

He lands on a private hangar. Coruscant. 

_ No. _

A sheer drop here would kill him. People died, more frequently than anyone would like to admit, falling through the levels.

The Sith materializes behind him in a swirling cloud of inky darkness.

“No.” This memory isn’t  _ for _ him. 

Not this one. No one should see this one.

Ahead of him, Brendol turns and stares. His mouth opens.

_ No.  _

_ No, this is a dream. _

It’s only a dream.

_ You can’t die in dreams. _

Armitage runs, sprinting forward as the Sith stalks behind him, shoving Brendol out of the way and diving.

The levels rush past.

_ Are you sure you can’t die?  _ A voice whispers in his mind.

Armitage twists in the air, looking up- the Sith is fluttering behind him.  _ No. But at least you’ll die too. _

The planet itself is rushing up and he knows it, knows it will hurt, feels it shatter beneath him-

He comes back to himself in the interrogation room, feeling like he’s run half-way across a planet only to get hit by a Star Destroyer. This Sith is sitting in front of him contemplatively. 

“Not a Sith,” the vocoder chastises him softly.

“Nor a Jedi,” Armitage responds snidely, the coppery taste of blood lingering in his mouth.

The black clad man tilts his head. “No.” A low noise rumbles from the vocoder- a sigh, perhaps, or a grunt- it’s hard to say what when it’s masked like that. “You keep thinking  _ Sith. _ It’s distracting.” He pauses, like he’s weighing something over. “Kylo Ren is my name.”

“Creatures like you have proper names? How novel.” Armitage is pushing his luck here, but it’s not as though he has much to lose. “I thought dressing as a nameless, faceless force in a mask was an aesthetic choice.”

There’s a palpable shift in the energy of the room, but Armitage can’t put his finger on what’s changed. He’s certain for a long moment that the Sith- Kylo Ren- is really going to kill him this time.  _ Death by mouthing off. Someone should tell some of my instructors, they might have bets to collect. _

They’re staring at each other- at least Armitage is staring, it’s much harder to tell what Ren is doing behind that mask- when Ren lifts his hands to his helmet and unseals it with a click. Dark, flowing hair ripples out of the confines, and intense eyes scrutinize Armitage over a long nose and a plush set of lips.

_ Kriffing hells. _

It’s not just that Ren looks so  _ young _ , but he easily could have fallen out of some romance holo. Armitage had imagined the man behind the mask to be hardened in some way- scarred or old or anything that could be called hideous.

This is… not that.

“You’re surprised.” 

The voice he’d heard in his dream is even more charismatic in person. Armitage swallows. “Yes.”

Ren nods. “You’re very resistant. It’s unusual.”

Armitage huffs a surprised laugh. “To torture?” 

“To me.” 

He’s up, suddenly, and looming over Armitage where he’s still strapped to the board, one massive gloved hand planted next to Armitage’s head. It’s all Armitage can do to remember to keep breathing and keep from instinctively trying to snap his hands up in defence. All he’ll do is hit the restraints, and that will make him look weak.

This is not the time to look weak.

“Very unusual,” Ren breathes, hot against Armitage’s cheek.

Then he’s back across the room, lifting his helmet and sliding it back over his wavy hair. “I must confer with my master,” he rumbles through the vocoder once the mask is settled. “We are not done here, Director Hux.”

Armitage reaches for a witty rejoinder, but nothing comes as Ren strides out of the room, and he’s left blinking, mouth slightly ajar.

_ What in the hells was that? _

 

***

 

Kylo feels confusion flutter through his core as he strides down the hall, officers and troopers alike suddenly finding reasons to stand against the wall and give him an exceedingly wide berth. For once, he does not feel the urge to hit something, and that in itself is mildly alarming. Hux resisted him, Hux backtalked, and he finds he’d rather keep talking to the man directly than tear him or half the ship to pieces.

_ Very odd indeed. _

Everywhere else on the ship, Kylo is keenly aware of the ripples of fear that accompany his presence. Or, occasionally, disdain, especially amongst the oldest officers, those that served the Empire from its earliest days. The ones that had never liked the Jedi, the ones that had followed Palpatine without regard for his more powerful alter ego and that would evict Snoke in a heartbeat if they thought they could get away with it.

They couldn’t. Snoke had made that clear as he strategically eliminated every real threat to his power. Now he’s the only one left, sowing just enough discord amongst the command staff to keep them from uniting. It would be a spectacular display of political acumen, if Kylo retained an appreciation for such things.

_ She would appreciate it, _ the quietest part of his mind whispers.  _ The strategy of it.  _

The rest of him immediately recoils at the thought. He should be striving not to think of her at all. There is too much risk in it, too much Light in the occasional, distant thought of warm embraces and fine fabrics and long coils of braids she would let him help pin if he was very good.

He is pledged to the Dark. He needs to act like it.

Canady is waiting for him when he approaches the chamber they use to communicate with Snoke. The staff of the interrogation room must have alerted him when Kylo left. “No luck, Lord Ren?”

“He will break,” Kylo finds himself responding easily. “I must consult with the Supreme Leader.”

“Of course.” Canady nods as Kylo brushes past him. “In the meantime, I have authorized another strategy.”

Kylo turns slowly back. Canady is another one of those few who are not easily intimidated by him- which is why, Kylo suspects, he was paired with Snoke’s most deadly apprentice. Snoke had been clear that Kylo’s purpose is not to deal with military strategy. He is, first and foremost, a weapon. “Another strategy?”

“We shall put him through a reconditioning course. His father was one of us- I have no doubt there is latent loyalty in there somewhere, and we shall bring it out by force if necessary.”

Inside the confines of his mask, Kylo allows his eyes to narrow and his tongue to run over his teeth. He has no reason to contest this strategy, but it makes him uneasy.

_ No- it must be the light. I do not care if he suffers. Why would I? _

“Very well.” He pause. “Refrain from any permanent damage. I need him mostly intact to enter his mind again. If anyone is going to break him, it will be me.”

Commander Canady lifts a brow. “Very well.”

Kylo nods and passes through the door. The audience chamber is black, meant to make the ominous presence of Snoke’s holo more intimidating. It also gives Snoke a very specific place to focus, should he need to make his presence known more  _ physically _ , even from halfway across the galaxy.

“Apprentice,” Snoke’s figure flickers into existence, oversized on his throne. “Take that mask off,” he adds derisively. Kylo would be intimidated if he didn’t know full well Snoke is smaller than him in person, and far more frail than his holos would let one think. “Have you obtained the plans?”

“The engineer is surprisingly resistant to my usual tactics,” Kylo intones cautiously. 

“Resistant?” Snoke’s massive figure leans closer, looming over Kylo. “But he does not have the Force.”

“No.” Kylo remains where he is, though he has to tilt his head up to see Snoke, which, he supposes, is the point of Snoke leaning like that, knowing how large the holo makes him appear. “Merely an unnatural abundance of willpower.”

Snoke sighs. “ _ Merely _ . If it were ‘merely’, you would have broken him already and obtained the plans.”

Kylo shifts his weight on his feet. “I could continue with the same tactics as usual, but I am already certain it will take longer than you would prefer.”

His master leans back. It is a calculated move on Kylo’s part, to make this about Snoke’s timeline, about his preferences. This is not about Kylo’s weakness. 

“Go to him when he is sleeping- naturally sleeping, not manufactured by drugs or your will. His mind should be less guarded. Be subtle- a deft blade, rather than a hammer.” The mutilated figure smiles. “This shall prove a good exercise for you. A trial of precision.”

“Yes, master.” Kylo bows his head, expecting the holo to be gone when he lifts it.

It is not.

“Kylo Ren. Do not mistake this for kindness. If you cannot obtain the plans, you will bring the engineer to me.” Snoke’s smile turns dark, his power reaching far across space to make itself known to his apprentice, just to remind him that he can. “And I will retrieve the information from his mind myself.”

He swallows, unsure why the thought makes him nervous. “Yes, master.”

 

***

 

Armitage’s legs strain when they release him from the restraints and then march him, almost carried by the stormtroopers, to a dark room with more restraints- sitting this time, thank the Maker for small favors- and a holoscreen.

They don’t speak as they set him up, and sarcastically asking which of his favorite holofilms they’ll be watching only earns him a backhand across the mouth. If they keep this up he’s really going to have to start worrying about his teeth and the further intactness thereof.

Assuming he’s going to live long enough to matter.

It seems like he might. At least, he keeps making it longer than he expects, so it might be time to reevaluate his strategy here. 

It’s not as though he has anywhere he can run.

He’s started laying out the information he has so far in his head, trying to plan for- something, some sort of improvement to his station- when the holo kicks on, and he feels a needle depress into his arm.

“Welcome to the First Order reconditioning protocol,” a woman’s cheery voice intones on the screen. “You’ve been sent to reconditioning to reinvigorate your loyalty to the First Order.”

_ What the kriff? _ Armitage blinks at the screen.  _ Is this… internal propaganda? _

A part of him wants to try and remember it as best he can, just in case he gets out. Then he can tell Leia- he knows she’d be interested. 

The holo continues on with mild, happy music and the woman, in an officers uniform, walking around what must be the recreational deck of a ship. She’s blathering on about something- something called Humans First?- and loyalty, and….

Armitage blinks. The holo feels very bright and vivid. Like’s he’s inside it.

_ Drugs. The drugs are kicking in. _

“Remember what the New Republic will do to you,” the woman says as ships explode around him, painfully bright.

“Remember what they will do to your families.” Planets- bloodied, ravaged, famine spreading-

_ Not real. Not real. _

“This is about loyalty. We want to trust you. But if we can’t trust you-”

Pain shoots through him and Armitage clenches his teeth around a scream. Had there been a second needle? He couldn’t be sure- but  _ fuck  _ that hurts-

And she’s  _ still talking _ and he doesn’t know when but his throat hurts like he’s been screaming and the only things he can properly focus on are the repetitions of how good the First Order is, and how important his loyalty is, and how he should be loyal, shouldn’t he, if it will just make the pain  _ stop- _

Decks away, laying on a black bed, Kylo Ren turns his head like he’s heard something.

His brow furrows.

  
  



	3. In Your Dreams

“It didn’t work.” Kylo isn’t asking a question, he knows it didn’t. He knows Hux is now lying, blearily catatonic, staring at the ceiling in his cell. He hasn’t moved since the troopers put him back in it, and for some unfathomable reason ever since their failed effort to _condition_ the engineer Kylo has been keenly aware of his presence, like a beacon in the tumultuous sea that is Force.  “Commander, the Supreme Leader will be excruciatingly displeased if he is too damaged to be of use.”

“Lord Ren- no one has ever had a reaction like that before-”

“Clearly, he is not one of your ordinary, weak-willed troopers.” Canady’s mouth snaps shut. Ren smiles inside his mask. “Have him brought to my chambers.”

Canady doesn’t even try to hide his look of surprise. “Your- ah-”

“His mind will be easier for me to access if he is asleep.” He lets Canady struggle with it for a bit, watching the mix of curiosity and disdain flit over his expression before his long years of serving his masters first win out and he schools himself into a neutral frown.

“Very well. You will-”

Kylo waves a dismissive hand to cut him off- the Force isn’t necessary to tell him what Canady was about to say. “He is not a threat to _me_ , Commander. But yes, I will ensure he cannot leave.” He steps past Canady, making it clear he is done with this conversation.

He spends some time arranging his quarters to accommodate a second person- particularly one who will likely need to be restrained. Hux is not nearly afraid of Kylo as he should be.

Perhaps he lacks a sufficient self-preservation instinct. Or a fear of death. Either could make this arrangement problematic, but Kylo does not need him to last long.

He only needs Hux to sleep.

His eyes flick to his console. The troopers are taking far too long to bring Hux up.

Kylo Ren sighs and puts back on his mask.

_Bureaucracy._ Orders take so karking _long_ to make it from himself down to the troopers. Ridiculous. This is why he ends up doing everything himself, or someone gets upset that he takes out his frustrations on a console.

He accesses Hux’s cell with little fanfare, only hearing a small whimper from the attendant at the detention block desk when he marches by demanding the cell be unlocked and not staying long enough for anyone to mount a protest.

_It’s not a request, after all._

Hux doesn’t move when the door slides open. He looks… limp. Beaten. If his eyes weren’t open, staring unfixedly at the ceiling, Kylo would be certain he was asleep.

_I suppose that would be too convenient to ask for._

He steps forward, pulling Hux up by his lapels. “What am I going to do with you, Director.”

Hux sinks, boneless, but Kylo sees his eyes briefly fix, feels the urge to struggle start to rise. Perhaps he should be flattered that his own presence is enough to pierce the haze the reconditioning effort has left him in.

“No, Director. _Sleep.”_

The tall ginger resists it at first, but he can’t hold on for long. His stills, calm and floating as Kylo lifts him with the Force. Kylo sighs, plucks him out of the air and tosses him over his shoulder.

He strides down the corridor with one arm wrapped around the back of Hux’s thighs, the ginger’s hands dangling in the vicinity of his ass.

Hux remains interesting to him. Interesting and potentially… potentially more. Either way he’s more intriguing than anyone Kylo has met in years.

_Something makes you special, Director._

_One way or another I shall find out what it is._

 

***

 

Armitage awakes, again, in darkness. Not because there is an absence of light, however- no, this time it is because the room itself is entirely black.

_Someone has no decorating sense._

His entire body feels sore, though he admittedly thought it would be a lot worse. There’s a damp feeling on his shoulder- his wound was treated with bacta at some point recently, tidying up the burn into what feels like merely a bad bruise.

_Tortured, beaten by stormtroopers, carted off by a Sith…._

The last thought gives him pause. He is in an all-black room, and if anyone he’d met so far had a penchant for melancholy dramatics it would probably be the man who wears a black mask on a regular basis.

And of course he’s been cuffed again. _I suppose it would be too much to ask for him to get overconfident and leave me unbound._

There’s a shifting noise through a door he hadn’t really seen before- there’s light under it. Refresher, probably. Armitage looks around for anything to use as a weapon- a blaster would be too much to ask for- oh!

Kylo Ren’s lightsaber is on the table in the far side of the room.

_It’s just kyber. A beam powered by kyber.  I know kyber. There’s nothing to fear._

He rolls quietly, meaning to slip silently off the couch he’s been put on and creep toward it- only when he slides over the edge and sneaks a few steps closer to the table the cuffs snap back to the side of the couch like they’ve been tractor beamed and he crashes with a yelp against it, moaning when he feels the way his damaged shoulder hits the edge.

“We do have some innovative technology ourselves, you know.”

Ren is leaning in the door languidly, shirtless, a black line- some sort of patch- covering over the wound Armitage’s welder had made in his side. Not that he looks any worse for it, no, of course not. Perfectly sculpted abs, pecs Armitage is fairly certain he could suffocate himself in, shoulders for days….

_Well that’s entirely unfair of the universe._

Armitage tests the pull of the cuffs- now that he’s by the couch again, he seems to be able to move as normal. Moving away again, he finds the place where he was yanked- and is unsurprised, this time, to find himself drawn back again with a significant amount of force, thudding down into the cushions.

“Perimeter activated magnetism. _Not_ innovative, though this is a… unique use for it.”

Ren snorts, stalking toward a chair his tunic is laid over and shrugging it on. “Must you always be the smartest person in the room?”

Armitage lifts a copper-red brow. “In present company I don’t believe I’ve much of a challenge.”

The Sith- Jedi- _whatever-_ eyes him for a long moment. “You have an alarming lack of self-preservation instincts.”

“You’ve only just noticed?”

Ren strides closer, too close, crowding Armitage by his expansive size back into the couch, and wraps his fingers around Armitage’s chin, turning it from side to side. Armitage is too surprised to object, and just as suddenly as Ren came over he lets go and wanders back toward a table with a datapad on it. “You’re underfed, Director. You need a decent meal.”

_Um._ Armitage blinks, feeling another encroach of a vague sense of nervousness. Not that Armitage is going to complain- feeding him had not precisely been on the agenda when he was strapped to the First Order’s little interrogation machine, nor their propaganda device- but the First Order’s idea of sustenance has so far done little to endear him to it. In his regular life- his old life, he supposes, as he still doubts he’ll make it back- he often skips meals, too immersed in his near-constant research and planning and design to remember that his body even required nutrition. He doesn’t think Ren should care. Pointedly ensuring your prisoners are well-fed does not seem to fit in with what he would expect of the First Order.

And, while he’s on the subject, cloistering your captive in your private quarters does not quite seem like the _done thing_ either.

Armitage narrows his eyes.

“This is a bit of a turn from having me drugged up on your other _innovative technologies._ Not to look a gift fathier in the mouth, but… why am in your quarters and not a cell?”

Ren glances up from the datapad. It’s interesting how expressive his face is without the mask- he almost looks a bit unsure of himself. _All that power and still insecure? No wonder he wears it._ “I need you well-rested.”

“For?” The ginger leans back on the couch, studying Ren. He looks a bit older than he seemed at first, now that Armitage can see him better. It’s the eyes. They’ve seen more.  

But when Ren answers with a petulant “reasons”, Armitage is reminded that for all his handsomeness and the potential of an old soul lying underneath, he apparently has the personality of a insecure teenager.

“I’m looking for something a bit more specific. Try and use your big boy words.”

The black-clad man scowls. “I don’t need to tell you anything.”

“You don’t have to,” Armitage intones idly, leaning back across the couch, “but you brought me to _your_ room, and I’m told I can be quite _irritating_ in tight spaces.” He offers an insincere smile. “Unless I have incentive not to, of course.”

Ren stares at him for longer than Armitage is truly comfortable with. Then he simply grabs his helmet and walks toward the door, ignoring the question entirely. “I shall acquire you a decent meal.”

The door slides open and closed over Armitage’s protest- though he is hungry- and leaves him in silence.

Silence and a four pace radius from the couch.

It takes what feels like mere minutes for his mind to run off on him. He tries to think of his plans, designs left unbuilt, languishing on his desk back on Hosnian Prime. Maybe Mitaka would pick them up for him, assuming he hasn’t already been promoted into Armitage’s position. Armitage isn’t quite sure how long it’s been since he was taken. Whole sections of the experience seem to be… lost. _Likely for the best._ Perhaps it’s been even longer than he thinks. Maybe Mitaka has finally batted his eyes to thank Poe for rescuing him, and they’re already moving into a nice double room together in the barracks. That is a comforting thought, anyway, someone else being happy. Someone continuing his work.

He rolls over on the couch. It’s hard to find a position that works with the manacles, but so many parts of him are still sore that he finds he’s tremendously grateful for the cushions, slim as they are.

There must be a reason he isn’t dead yet. Some other torture device they have to get ready, perhaps, though that doesn’t explain the sudden gentle treatment.

Or he’s been given as a gift to the insecure man-child human incarnation of a weapon who thinks it’s a good idea to decorate one’s bedroom in all black. It wouldn’t surprise him if no one had been willing to get in bed with a monster like that before. Maybe a prisoner is the best he can do.

Well. There are ways to test that theory.

_How long has it been?_ Ren has been gone a long time. Too long? Who’s to say- if he’s on a Star Destroyer, as he’s guessed, it could take hours to move from one part of the ship to another. Ren seems to have a position of some authority- he shouldn’t be running errands like a droid for the captive in his room.

_Maybe they’re planning to wait for my mind to crack from boredom._

He sighs and rolls again. Nothing is comfortable and his mind is now trying to come up with inventive ways they might give him an excruciatingly painful death.

_Actually,_ he considers, _perhaps they’ve simply gotten more inventive with their torture. Let my own head do it for them._

Fine- fine. He needs something else to occupy him.

He stands and begins to pace around the couch, studying the room as best he can in the dim light, eyes falling on the datapad. Whatever Kylo Ren is, Armitage is going to learn every karking thing about the man.

And then exploit the hell out of it.

 

***

 

Kylo is not in the habit of actually going to the command deck’s mess hall for food. A droid brings it, typically, whenever he requests- his life is not easy to confine to a rigorous schedule. He had been in the process of placing the order when Hux had proved to be more inquisitive than expected.

And now he needs to walk.

Five minutes of conversation and the engineer already has him wrong-footed. This is ridiculous, isn’t it? He’s a _knight._ He has the bounty of the Force at his command.

And one karking ginger who doesn’t seem to be a whit intimidated by it.

_Just need to make it until he sleeps,_ he reminds himself. _Then I’ll slip in, take the plans, and that’s it. He can go… elsewhere._

He isn’t sure where _elsewhere_ might be. Kylo doesn’t really want to give him back to Canady and Peavey to torment, not with their conviction that anyone can be turned into a loyal, mindless slave of the First Order with sufficient reconditioning.

Hux doesn’t deserve to become what they’d break him into.

Kylo isn’t meant to _care_ , of course, and he’s sure he doesn’t, not really. It’s not his place to even consider what should happen to Hux after Kylo has completed his mission.

It shouldn’t bother him at all.

It may be a credit to Hux’s peculiar nature that Kylo has even thought about it. A man like that- a genius intellect and an antagonistic spirit that might be taken as bravery- it offends him that any part of that whole might be removed.

And he still hasn’t felt the urge to hurl the man into a wall or carve him to pieces. Kylo has to sort this out, before Snoke declares it another of his innumerable weaknesses. He must master himself. No one else is to be an influence over him except Snoke.

He will resist whatever influence the engineer has inadvertently engendered in him.

There are few people in the mess when he sweeps through and orders two meals. There are looks, but if anyone has questions they are wise- or fearful- enough to keep them to themselves. It’s likely they assume he’s eating both himself.

_No matter._

When he returns to the room, Hux appears to be sitting calmly on the couch, but Kylo has the feeling something is amiss.

Nothing looks out of order. The only tell is how obedient Hux looks.

_He’s up to something._

Kylo deposits the tray on the coffee table and sets his helmet next to it. He opts to drag another chair over rather than sit next to the engineer- he needs to be positioned where he can keep a full eye on the lanky ginger.

“Eat,” he growls in as commanding of a voice as he can manage.

Hux lifts a brow. “I’d say you were fattening me up for something, but I don’t imagine this slop would accomplish any fattening at all.”

Suppressing a chuckle, Kylo nods toward it. “Eat anyway.”

He’s hoping the feeling of a full belly will be enough to carry Hux off to sleep quickly. He’s selected the heaviest foods the mess offers in furtherance of that goal, leaving a lighter meal for himself.

_But then I’ll get the plans, and we shall be done._

As he watches Hux eat, carefully monitoring that he doesn’t try to slip any utensils from view- not that any of them are sharp enough to accomplish much- and takes in the room. Something had changed while he was gone, and if he just felt with the Force, he should be able to….

There. A gap in his awareness at one table, a void-

His datapad is missing.

A flicker of concern ripples across his face. There is no way Hux should have been able to reach that. It was on the other side of the room.

_He doesn’t- there’s no way he has the Force. Is there?_

If that were the case, Kylo should have felt it. No, that can’t be it. But if he reaches, he should be able to feel….

Hm. Yes. The datapad is on the couch- it’s one of his own possessions, he can feel it more strongly than other things, especially this close. He could simply yank it to him from wherever Hux has hidden it, but he thinks Hux needs a more personal approach.

Without announcing his intentions, he stands and steps around the back of the couch, watching as well-concealed nervousness briefly appears in Hux’s eyes.

_Ah. So you are not entirely unafraid after all._

From behind, he leans down next to Hux and runs his fingers along the gap in the couch cushions on either side of the slim man. One of them hits plasteel and he plucks it up, moving slowly so Hux can see exactly what he is retrieving. Hux remains still, a spoon held aloft and frozen in midair, as though if he moves he might draw Kylo’s wrath.

Kylo finds he rather likes that he’s finally managed to unsettle the engineer.

“I’m impressed,” he rumbles from next to Hux’s ear. “How did you manage to get this?”

He can hear Hux’s slight inhale, almost feel the man evaluate the risk of lying and cast it aside. “Height,” Hux answers primly, as though this is a perfectly normal conversation and he isn’t afraid at all. “I only had to keep the manacles in the radius, but if I lie across the floor I can reach the table leg. Dragged it over, then pushed it back.”

“Hm,” Kylo exhales, the heat bouncing back toward him from the ginger’s fine hair. “And you’ve broken the biometric access?”

“The entire room is full of your biometrics.” Hux turns back a little, enough for one blue eye to skim over Kylo’s face. The knight is suddenly very aware of how close they are. “It wasn’t that hard. _Master of the Knights of Ren_ is a ridiculous title, by the way,” he adds snippily.

“Hmph.” Kylo lingers a moment, not wanting to be the first to back up. This is about power. Nothing else. From here he can even _smell_ Hux, the acrid tang of being left in one set of clothes while they interrogated him, and a fainter, almost-sweet musk that must be his natural scent. It’s intimately masculine and alarmingly sensual. He feels a low flush across his face and leans back, marching back to his chair.  “Finish eating. You need a shower.”

 

***

 

Armitage isn’t sure what he’s expecting as far as bathing is concerned, but it is not for Ren to detach the manacles and then order him to strip. “Well, I suppose you did buy me dinner first,” he says lightly, undoing the buttons of his jackets slowly and letting it slide from his shoulders. The datapad’s holo logs indicated Ren has something of a preference for men, sexually, and if Ren’s going to stand there and watch, Armitage is going to give him a bit of a show. It should either throw him off balance or curry a little favor. Either will suit his needs.

He can tell from a brief glance in the mirror that Ren is blushing. “That is not- just get in the shower.”

“Isn’t it?” Armitage hauls his shirt off, tossing it aside like it’s his refresher, that it’s his floor to throw it on. He’s thin, he knows, but it’s worked in his favor before. No one seems terribly opposed to a waist they can fit their hands around, and he’s absolutely certain those massive paws Ren passes off as hands would grasp him perfectly.

Not that a decent fuck is the goal, per se. No. He’d have to keep reminding himself of that, seeing as Ren is so damnably handsome, and Armitage is growing more and more assured that his suspicions that the _knight_ is not quite so experienced as himself are correct. He just needs to get Ren under his own control. Sex has _always_ been useful for that.

And then he’ll have to figure out what to do. Simply running off for the hangar and getting Ren to fly him home would probably be pushing it. Better to hope he’ll be given some sort of freedoms if he can get the knight under his thumb, and then look for the opportunity to make a run on his own.

“You don’t have to _watch_ , you know,” Armitage purrs, reaching for the clasp of his trousers.

Ren huffs. “I am not, I am ensuring you don’t- whatever, just don’t do anything stupid.” The man marches out of the refresher, leaving the door open. Armitage resists the urge to laugh.

The razors have been removed, unsurprisingly, and Armitage frowns when he realizes there are no ingredient lists on the products, just brief, boring labels on small black bottles. Pity, because if he knew what was in them he could be able to come up with something useful, seeing as an alarming number of things can be turned explosive in the right combinations.

When he’s done he traipses out of the refresher with a towel slung low across his hips. He doesn’t see Ren at first- apparently there’s a room in the back, beyond the bedchamber, where the _knight_ , a term Armitage still thinks is idiotic at best, appears to be meditating in front of a warped, half-melted helmet.

_Strange._

Armitage could march straight out into the hallway and run, but they probably wouldn’t have that hard of a time locating one naked ginger on a ship entirely full of uniforms, and he has a feeling several of them would have less of an issue shooting him than Ren. At least Ren seems to want to keep him alive.

_For now._

Well, he hadn’t gotten this far making safe choices. _Might as well try something else just to see what happens._

He strides over to the bed, sending up a brief prayer to whatever god of emotional dysfunction and bad fashion sense Ren follows that the sheets are mostly clean, strips off the towel and tosses it to the floor, and then climbs in.

The sheets aren’t bad, actually. They feel soft. Almost unused. Perhaps Ren doesn’t sleep much, but frankly anything is better than the unadorned cot he’d had in detention.

“What are you doing?” Ren has come out of his little side chamber, looking on with apprehensive concern as Armitage makes himself comfortable.

“Relaxing. Being comfortable. You might wish to try it some time.”

Ren purses his lips. Armitage almost snorts- there’s no way he can do it without it just looking like a pout, his lips are too plush. “You can sleep on the-”

“Bed, yes, thank you, that’s what it’s for.”

He holds Ren’s gaze evenly, neither man speaking, a low undercurrent of tension fluttering in the air like the first signs of an electrical storm.

“You’re… naked,” Ren says eventually.

Armitage cants his head. “Well I wasn’t going to put back on the other clothes. They’re dirty, aren’t they? You said so yourself.” He leans back against the pillows. “I assume you have laundry droids.”

Ren stares at him, then lets out a long sigh as he walks through the bedroom and back to the living area. Armitage permits himself a smile- until Ren returns with the manacles. “Oh, honestly, you aren’t expecting me to sleep in those.”

“You are more naive than you let on if you really thought you’d be getting out of them.” Ren stalks over to the side of the bed. “Wrists.”

Huffing, Armitage extends his arms. _Should’ve just run for it._ The manacles clasp cold and hard, offsetting the warm relaxation he’d had in the shower.

He isn’t expecting it when Ren draws his arms up over his head and holds the manacles to the headboard. An instinctive reflex makes him fight it, thought that’s a lost cause- Ren could hold him there one-handed for as long as he likes and Armitage wouldn’t be able to stop him.

It’s probably a point of concern that the thought triggers both a vague sense of heat up his torso and an immediate low throb of interest farther down. _No- do not get an kriffing erection now._ “What-”

“If you refuse to sleep on the couch, the manacles will need to be recalibrated. Hold still.”

If he wasn’t looking, he would have missed the quick curl of Ren’s lip, a brief flash of a smug smirk as he lets go. _Oh, I see. Perhaps not as innocent as we appear._

“You aren’t keeping still enough.”

Armitage growls. “You put them in an awkward position.”

Ren makes a noise of indifference, then climbs onto the bed- at which Armitage _definitely_ moves, lowering his arms across his chest protectively only to have Ren pluck them up again and hold them, one wide hand wrapped about the binding while the other holds his datapad, legs straddled over his captive’s hips.

It feels dangerous to breathe- not because he’s afraid of Ren, he isn’t- but if he inhales too fully his body might take it as permission to enjoy this particular scenario and he really doesn’t want Ren to become away of his nascent… engorgement. Which is currently very firmly pinned by the sheets and blanket, thank the Maker.

“There.” The datapad beeps. “You can move now. Don’t fall off the bed.”

“And what if I need to piss?”

Ren makes a hmming noise. “I suppose you’ll have to ask me to let you go.” The infuriating knight finally gets up, returning to his meditation room and leaving Armitage to try and will his cock to quiet so he can actually get some rest.

_He is not attractive. This is just to get power over him. Not a personal interest._

_Not at all._

 

***

 

Hux takes an age to fall asleep, during which time Kylo meditates. He’s meant to be thinking about the Dark Side, and stealth, and what he must do to quietly invade Hux’s mind, but instead he’s stuck on the slight pressure he felt while he was sat astride across Hux’s hips and the quiet, contented little noises he’s sure the engineer has been making on _purpose_ , damn him.

When Armitage is deep asleep, Kylo creeps closer. He debates keeping farther away, but as close as possible will be best- he slides into the bed carefully and sits beside Hux’s head, fingers just brushing the ends of copper-red strands of hair.

He’s almost beautiful like this, pale and vulnerable, lips just slightly parted.

_No- stop that. This is a mission, and then he goes back to Canady._

_Do as Snoke commanded._

Breathing centered, he gently finds an opening in the edge of Hux’s mind, in the stream of dreams he’s left unprotected.

Leaning against the headboard, Kylo dives in, and things fall dark.

Hux’s mind, asleep, is unwieldy. It takes Kylo a bit to find the hard surface of memory and concrete thought to grab onto. Oddly, the first ones he can locate are of himself- just flashes of black, the mask, his hands grabbing onto Hux’s shirt and thrusting him against a wall.

It’s a bit odd to see it from the other side, and odder still that these don’t seem to be entirely accurate scenarios. Hux hadn’t stayed conscious for that long, for one thing, and for another Kylo is certain he didn’t start undoing the buttons of-

_Oh._

_Huh._

Kylo honestly feels more torn about this than he’d thought. On one hand, he’s a bit vindicated that Hux is obviously attracted to him, on the other… he does not quite want to admit that watching a dream iteration of himself start to ravish the engineer is a bit of a turn-on for him as well.

_Kriff. Focus. This is a mission, not a pornographic holovid._

He should consider himself fortunate. Hux has given him an easy in.

Kylo just has to remain undistracted enough to take it.

He steps into the dream iteration of himself, steadily influencing it, slowly taking over while trying not to give himself away. Fortunately, the ginger seems more interested in getting his trousers unlaced than spotting any subtle shift in the dreamscape. Kylo dips his head, letting his lips graze over Hux’s throat and trying not to be too alarmed at how much the sensation, even if it is only in his mind, makes his cock jump.

_Don’t panic, don’t panic, he’ll be able to tell- just stick with it, it’s sex. I can do sex. Especially when none of it’s real._

“Want to take you over your desk,” he breathes in Hux’s ear. “Show me how brilliant you are, then let me bend you over all your plans….”

The dream version of Hux shudders. He doesn’t have the same luxuries as Kylo in this state, not actually being awake- feelings and emotions and thoughts are not as clearly formed, so the environment changes to reflect those elements instead of forcing his mind to come up with coherent words.

Kylo can already feel the landscape around him shifting, molding itself into Hosnian Prime and the labs therein. Hux’s office. Kylo crowds him back against the high-backed chair within, forcing him to drop into it. “Show me. Show me everything.”

Hux’s mind runs through various ideas, things Hux hasn’t built yet, and Kylo praises them all, waiting for an opening. He gets it when he spots kyber in the whirl of images, glowing and powerful.

“Kyber? Like your shield weapon?” Hux looks skeptical enough that Kylo feels a flutter of panic. _No- no, I have to sell this._ “It’s such a clever weapon. I’m sure my people would never even suspect. Destroy them, and you can have me all to yourself… just show me how you would do it.”

The plans take shape in front of him, hovering over Hux’s desk.

Kylo breathes in sharply. This is it, this is… it’s so clear, every lovingly crafted line of the plans, the architecture, the shards of kyber that power it. Only… only that’s it. All he can see is the outline. There’s other material there, something about power and energy and output, but he can’t understand it. It’s too wrapped up in Hux’s mind, too tied to the specifics of his engineer’s brain.

“Kriffing hells.”

He tries to pull, tries to yank the design out- perhaps if he can drag out the plans, even if he can’t read them, he can figure out a way to pass them on- when Hux stands up from the chair, eyes narrowed, the image of the room flickering.

In the real world, Kylo feels a shift on the bed.

He tries to yank himself out but Hux is somehow faster, and when he pulls himself into his own body Hux has already got his manacles pulled back against Kylo’s throat, dragging him down against Hux’s chest.

“You karking bastard, I should have known.” Hux’s voice is still thick with sleep and breathy from the sudden influx of adrenaline to his system. Kylo swears he can hear the ginger’s heart beating frantically, a mess of fight or flight impulse and hormones. “You saw them, didn’t you? That’s what you wanted. And now what, you’ll toss me out an airlock because you don’t need me anymore?” He’s almost snarling, and Kylo can sense that cornered-animal feeling that’s gotten Hux by so far.

Kylo tries to wrap his hand under the metal, but Hux has got it pretty tight- Kylo would be more impressed if he could breathe better. He grits his teeth and _pushes_ , lifting the metal until he can wedge his hand under it and with the Force and his own strength combined force Hux’s arms up. When his head is clear he rolls, using his own body weight to keep Hux pinned and keeps pushing until the manacles hit the headboard and he can press the little locking mechanism to hold them in place- just in time, too, as Hux seems ready to try and force him off by whatever squirming kicks he can manage. “Stop, stop- knock it _OFF-”_ he shouts, imbuing the last with the Force to finally make Hux still.

He sits back, sweating, finding that he’s straddling Hux again. He knocks several lank strands of dark hair from his face. “I am not putting you out a kriffing _airlock,_ you overdramatic-”

“You’re calling _me_ overdramatic? Have you ever looked around this miserable excuse for a bedroom-”

“Do you only shut up when you sleep?”

“-and now, what, you’re going to make me watch as you ruin the best thing I’ve done with my life-”

“I’m not- for fuck’s sake-”

“Then what?!” Hux shifts under him- his resistance to extended Force commands is deeply infuriating. “What are you going to do with my designs if not-”Something in Kylo’s face must give him away. Hux stops abruptly, his eyes narrowing and his body entirely still. “You saw them- I know you saw them, I _felt_ it-”

Kylo lets out an exasperated sigh, more easy bravado in his body than he feels. “Of course, for one with the Force it is easy-”

“-and you can’t read them, can you?” Kylo hesitates and Hux laughs. “Oh, that’s kriffing perfect. The Force isn’t a substitute for an engineering degree, is it? Amazing. You still need me. You still need _me._ ” He laughs harder, even as Kylo shakes him to make him stop, the heat of his failure rising in his cheeks.

“Shut up,” Kylo growls, and his hand wraps Hux’s throat, but he didn’t realize how close they’d gotten, and now his face is only inches from Hux’s-

And Hux smiles coyly, damn him. “Make me.”

_Bad idea bad idea bad idea-_

Snoke will know. Snoke will know, and Kylo has failed, and he’ll be punished-

But maybe he can turn Hux anyway. Maybe there’s another way to try this. Maybe the hot press of his chest against Hux’s bare flesh where the sheets have slipped down will gain him everything he could ever want-

He wishes he could say his motivation is that pure as Hux arches up and he leans down and their lips come together in a passionate clash of tongue and teeth.

  



	4. Words of Command

_Oh kriffing fuck._

Under other circumstances, being restrained like this while getting kissed within an inch of his life would be terribly arousing. It still is, really- Armitage is struggling to keep his wits about him with those ludicrously big hands all over him, reaching down under the sheets and reminding him that his genius plan began with him marching naked into Ren’s bed.

If his hands weren’t bound, he’d be doing the same, getting his hands on the skin that lurks under all that melancholy black.

“Take your tunic off,” he growls when there’s space enough to breathe. Ren only grunts and kisses him harder, pressing him into the mattress. Armitage can’t stop a moan of appreciation of the man’s sheer strength.

_Come on, think. You’re meant to be plotting._

_You’re a tactician._

_Think with your brain, not your cock._

Easier said than done, of course.

“Let me touch you,” he tries when Ren’s mouth- _kriff,_ that _mouth_ \- slips to his jaw and down to his throat, broad hands slowly lowering the blanket that is the only barrier between them. His cock is definitely interested, moreso as the fabric shifts over it, giving him just enough friction to reach full hardness and get no further relief.

“No,” Ren murmurs from over one of Armitage’s very peaked nipples. He lifts his head to protest- surely Ren can see the advantages, and it’s not like Armitage can reach a weapon from here- no, he’ll just fuck Ren into insensibility and _then_ look for his escape route, once the mighty beast is tamed. Only it won’t be that easy, because Ren’s mouth is on him, tongue stroking, and-

Armitage _yelps_ when teeth close over his nipple. He can almost feel Ren smirking at his instinctive effort to squirm away, not that he can get very far.

“Loud, are we, Director Hux?” Oh, _kriff_ , he had not adequately anticipated what that low rumbling voice would do to him in this sort of state. “You can scream,” he murmurs, smugness apparent in his tone, “the room is fairly soundproof.”

_Karking bollocks._

He’s really going to need to rethink his plan, because if Ren keeps speaking to him like that he’s not going to make it, all of his brain cells are going to be lost to arousal.

Ren’s tongue slides farther down, tracing the line of Armitage’s stomach. The blanket pauses just before freeing Armitage’s cock, and he feels one of those broad hands pause on his hip. “Should I make you scream, director?”

“You can’t make me do anything, Ren.” The words are out of his mouth before he has time to think them through, breathily panted in a way that probably negates the biting challenge of them. _Kriff._

The blanket shift slightly, and Armitage can feel a rush of air over the base of his shaft, Ren’s fingers lingering just at the edge of his tuft of curly ginger hair. “I think you like a challenge, Hux. That’s alright.” A wide thumb strokes down from his hip, following the vee of his body. “So do I.”

He feels the relief when the blanket flies free, the throb of freedom for his cock springing free. He has a decent cock- Armitage has never been inclined to self-deprecation in that area. But he isn’t expecting it when Ren’s mouth draws closer and his tongue paints a stripe up its underside.

“Go ahead and scream, Hux,” Ren intones cockily.

Armitage draws in a breath to tell him to fuck off, but then Ren’s mouth slides over the head of his cock, and he cries out with surprise and need.

 

***

 

Hux has a lovely cock. Gorgeous, really, pink tipped and proportional to his body, long and just the right size to get his mouth around it easily. Kylo hasn’t been terribly promiscuous in years- there were opportunities, if discouraged ones, with the other training Jedi, but he’d never truly fit in there.

_And now they’re all dead or long dispersed._

When he’d joined the First Order there was more interest. No one knew him then, and the idea of Snoke’s dark apprentice was probably very appealing before the rumors- or facts, depending on what exactly was being said- about his temper got around, and people found all that darkness more terrifying than tempting.

Even naked and pinned by virtue of his manacles, Hux still isn’t afraid of him. He’s turned on.

_Fascinating._

Fear had been the wrong tactic. Seduction will work far better. And then Snoke won’t see him as a failure, not if he can lure the engineer into giving up his plans along with his body.

He looks up to watch Hux shake with arousal with every deep bob. Kylo won’t risk putting him to the back of his throat- that wasn’t even a skill he had when he was doing this sort of thing more regularly- but he can use his tongue well, and it is intensely gratifying to track the reactions each little flick provokes.

_Force, if I could hear him beg for it-_

No- no, this is tactical. Just a strategy. Getting Hux to beg for him will be good only because it will give him more control over the prickly ginger if Hux is desperate for his cock. Hopefully desperate enough to explain his stupid shield plans to someone who can understand them.

He works steadily, varying his rhythm so Hux can never quite fall into ease with it, hanging on to that deliciously slim frame until he feels the telltale twitches of need giving his new toy’s desire away.

Then he pulls off, of course, smirking when Hux curses. “I’m not done with you yet, Director.”

Kylo pulls off his tunic, enjoying the rather shocked look Armitage gets when he _happens_ to flex the broad expanse of his muscles just so. He knows he looks good- of course he does. It’s a natural result of his training, a balance of physical and mental to augment his use of the Force. The laces of his trousers are next, and he’s slow about it. _Let him want it._ There are holovids that have shown this sort of maneuver, and Kylo is not inattentive to things that interest him.

When his cock springs free, it bobs freely, thick and heavy. Hux looks surprised for a moment, but only for a flash before he schools his face into a glare at Kylo. “Unsatisfied?” Kylo asks casually, though on the inside he feels more than a flicker of worry that perhaps he is. Perhaps something about Kylo is _lacking._

Hux huffs. “Of course your cock looks like that.”

“Like what?”

“Ridiculous. As is the rest of you. Are you sure you’re not the result of a crossbreeding experiment with a rancor?”

Kylo’s natural insecurities pause him for a moment, but he can sense the answer he’s looking for at the edge of Hux’s mind, seeing as it’s enough for Hux to be projecting a bit. _Big. Too big._ He smiles, gratified, as he slides up the bed and straddles Hux’s shoulders. “Worried that you can’t take it?”

Hux grumbles, clearly torn between a confident reply and the fact that he’s not actually sure. Kylo runs his thumb over Hux’s lower lip, watches it bounce. “I think you’ll manage somehow.” Cupping Hux’s jaw in one hand, he slides one thick finger in, ensuring his teeth unclench and his jaw relaxes, encouraging him to suck on it a moment, warming him up to the sensation.

_That’s it, director. You want to let me in._

It is deeply, deeply satisfying to watch Hux’s mouth open, to set the head of his own thick cock on the outstretched pink of his tongue and feel the wet friction run over it. He growls- it’s so good but not enough. He needs _more._

Hux is taking him, sucking him, and Kylo shallowly dips to push further in.

Hux moans.

It’s sensual enough to make Kylo blink. Moaning? Over sucking his cock? He studies Hux’s face, the wide pupils and the overall tint of red across his freckles. _Kriffing shit._ If he’d known it was this easy to get Hux desperate for him, he’d have taken his clothes off in the interrogation room.

“I’m gonna fuck your mouth,” he says, feeling his blood burn at the very concept. “You like that?” There’s an open groaning sound around his cock, and he can already see Hux working his jaw farther open. “Yeah. Thought you would.”

The angle is decadent- with Hux pinned by his restraints, Kylo can thrust while hanging onto the headboard, letting his cock be enveloped in slick heat. He grunts in broken curses when Hux opens his throat, urging him further in. “Shit- shit- oh, kriff, your karking _mouth-”_

 

***

 

Blessings be on biology for depriving him of a gag reflex.

Armitage isn’t sure what he would have done if he needed to handle that absolute monstrosity of a cock while also trying not to choke. _Kriffing hells._ But this is all working out according to plan- Ren is absolutely losing himself with desire, and Armitage is more than willing to make him spend down his throat if it will give him the leverage he needs to find a way off this ship.

Stars know he’s sucked enough cock in his life, but this one must be the largest he’s tried. Never having been too inclined to cross-species copulation, the average human measurements had always sufficed.

Then again he’s still not entirely sure Ren is human. It would explain the size.

There’s a science to this- breath on the withdrawal, hold it on the thrust, flick his tongue at the end (Ren seems to like that in particular, when he catches the head in a lazy drag like managing this isn’t any hardship at all).

If he had his hands free he’d make this a bit more interesting, but Ren is apparently smart enough not to trust him outright. So he’ll have to rely on Ren enjoying himself enough making Armitage’s’s throat raw with that ridiculous cock to perhaps take some pity on him later.

_I can ask for another shower. There’s good reason. He’ll uncuff me for that._

And then what?

“How- are you- _plotting-_ with a dick in your mouth?” Kylo pants above him, picking up the pace rather forcefully. Armitage’s eyes snap up. _Surely he can’t mindread that well._

“No- you just project, here and- there.” Ren grasps his hair, pulling back so his cock runs along Hux’s lower lip, dragging saliva and precum over his chin. “It’s unusual, thinking so loud. I could study you, you know. Keep you chained here as long as I like.” The hand in his hair twists, pulling it tighter and sending a ripple of painful pleasure down his spine. “You want to run free, but you have to learn how to _behave_.”

Armitage feels himself make a yelping noise he’s never heard before as Kylo pulls back and flips him with a quick wave of his hand. The manacles rotate like they’re pinned on a hook, and even as he hears the shifting of fabric behind him, an invisible force parts his arsecheeks, cupping and squeezing and touching him _everywhere._ Stroking his cock, squeezing his balls, and gently pressing on his hole all at once.

He lets out a strained cry that deteriorates into a moan, a hoarse noise after that massive cock invaded his throat. Large fingers stroke through his cleft, spreading slick and circling his entrance, testing how easily he can admit one. “Oh, Hux, I should have known you wouldn’t be a novice.”

“I know what I like,” Armitage rasps scornfully.

Ren huffs. “I bet you do.” He knocks Armitage’s legs open wider with his knees, making space for himself between them. Armitage can’t see them but he can feel the girth of his thighs, the warm, muscular weight of them brushing over his own.

One finger slips in, and even that makes Armitage squirm until Ren pins his hips with one broad hand. “Stay still.”

“Why, afraid you’ll hurt me?” Armitage says sarcastically, earning a firm smack across his arse without Ren bothering to pull out. Not that he ever really knows when to stop. “Strange, considering the lightsaber- and the torture- and the cuffs, really-”

“Shut up.” Ren presses the pad of his finger down, searching until he hits-

Armitage starts shaking, the ripples of heady pleasure are so strong and overwhelming. “Oh _kriffing fuck_ -”

“Hm. I see. That stops you thinking, doesn’t it? Can’t relax any other time but when someone’s deep inside you, fucking you senseless.”

He’d retort, but suddenly the weight across the bed is shifting and he can feel that ridiculous prick nuzzling against him. He can take it- certainly he take it- but _kriff_ , that thing is thick.

If he had more time he might actually get a bit nervous about it, but Ren starts to push and Armitage can’t help a guttural response as his body strains to accommodate it. “Karking fuck- _fuck_ \- ridiculous bantha-cock karking-” he breaks off in a yelp as Ren pushes a bit harder.

“Mmm, sorry. Thought you weren’t too bothered about getting _hurt._ ”

_Arsehole._ Armitage levels a glare over his shoulder that is not terribly effective, what with the sex-flush tint of red across his pale skin and the way he can’t quite seem to stop moaning when Ren eases into him. His toes are curling against the sheets just to redirect the feeling of _too much, far too much_ and keep his arse relaxed. In the cuffs his fingers are clutching at the air uselessly, his wrists probably bruising from his instinctual resistance even though the burn of it feels amazing . He’s never felt so full, so taken before the real _fucking_ starts, already halfway to fucked completely senseless, though he’d never admit it. Panting and crying and nearly sobbing by the time Ren bottoms out, he hardly has time to breath before he hears Ren’s smug voice in his ear and feels a soft caress brushing some stray hair from his face. “Ready?”

The question, it turns out, is rhetorical, because Ren draws back to the tip and bears down again in one smooth motion and Armitage _screams._

 

***

 

In retrospect, Kylo should have recorded this. He could listen to Hux scream and cry and shout obscenities under him for _hours._ He’s loud in bed, in the best way. Kylo shouldn’t be surprised. The man obviously enjoys the sound of his own voice.

Maybe Kylo could muzzle him outside of bed to better show him his place. Hux would hate that. Kylo would very much enjoy watching him hate it.

_That assumes you’ll be keeping him,_ a quiet voice says in his head.

True. It does. Kylo doesn’t particularly want to let go of Hux, even after Snoke has what he wants from the man’s head. He’s too… interesting. Too different.

Perhaps it’s that he’s been in the machine that comprises the First Order for too long. Too much conformity. No one allowed to think independently- not even his knights, not after Snoke got ahold of them.

Everyone is a part of the chain, or they’re cast off from it entirely.

Usually out an airlock.

Kylo is an exception. Snoke keeps him more or less _leashed_ \- he knows Canady and Peavey think of him as Snoke’s pet- but he’s never quite given over his mind.

Maybe Snoke will grant him this. As a reward. A pretty ginger to warm his bed and tell the First Order how to improve their weapons. Someone would need to keep an eye on Hux, after all. Reconditioning won’t work on him no matter what Canady thinks. His will is far too strong.

And from what Kylo has heard, Hux is nothing like his father.

All the better. Judging from his reputation alone Brendol was a cog, and, other than his training methods, not a tremendously useful one. This Hux is so much _better._

Kylo turns his attention back to his splayed prize, wrapping his hands around those slim hips, and _pulls_ . The snap of flesh against flesh is obscene, their union loud until Hux buries his face in the mattress, hiding how absolutely _wrecked_ he looks. “None of that.” Kylo pulls him back by the hair. “I want to hear you.” He smiles, even though Hux can’t see it. “I told you I would make you scream, Director.”

Hux moans in response, low and husked. Kylo hangs onto his hair as he thrusts, pounding with such focus on what he’s doing to Hux and how _ruined_ his new toy looks that he misses the signs of his own pleasure rising until it’s too late. He can’t hold it back.

He pulls out to the sweet sound of a whimper from Hux and flips him again with the Force so he can reach that lovely cock. “Gonna come all over you,” he growls, the feeling of his impending orgasm feral and wild, much like his connection with the Force. “You’ll come for me too, director.”

The director whimpers, squirming, and Kylo reaches back inside him with the Force, stroking that sweet spot he’d found earlier. “Come- come for me-”

He loses his tie to the Force when his control evaporates, the tide of his pleasure whiting out the rest. He spills in thick lines across Hux’s chest, pumping out the rest as his breath comes back to him. Hux must’ve come as well- he’s sad to have missed it, overwhelmed by his own orgasm.

_Next time. Next time I’ll watch him. Make him come for me where I can see it._

Hux is a mess. Covered in slick and come, with teary, dark eyes and dishevelled hair.

Kylo thinks he never wants to see Hux look any other way.

They stay there for a bit, just breathing and staring at each other. Spent, Kylo can feel the energy of the room shifting, the wariness they bear toward each other returning.

“You’ll want to shower.” He gets up, wandering to the refresher to find the spare towels. “You will bathe with me. No running off.”

Hux doesn’t say anything for a bit, and when it does it’s simply “Alright.”

Kylo can’t help but think he’s somehow gained that acquiescence far too easily.

 

***

 

Ren uncuffs Armitage and nudges him under the water.  The heat stings his wrists, which are certainly bruised- he doubts the manacles were built to take that particular sort of strain. _But Maker, it felt good._

No- he can’t be lingering on that. Escaping must be his primary goal, fantastic, satiating sex aside.

_Focus. Calculate it. Risk to reward of grabbing that lightsaber while we’re both drying off. It’s the closest weapon in range._

_And then what? Run through the ship naked and pray for a ship you know how to pilot to be in the hangar?_

“You can’t turn it off, can you? That clever little mind of yours.” Ren’s bulk fills the shower, crowding Armitage back against the wall. “Plotting again.” Ren’s hand cups his chin, tilts it up to emphasize the scant difference in their height. “It’s not wise.”

“Stop keeping me prisoner and I won’t need to.” Armitage doesn’t want to let himself feel the nervousness lurking just underneath all of his casual mouthiness. He doesn’t want to admit he can’t see an obvious way out.

Or that there might not be a way out. Ever.

_No. There’s always a way out. Just be patient._

Ren presses closer, not quite touching, but enough to keep Armitage where he is unless he wants to end up skin to skin under the water. “Careful, Hux.” His fingers reach out, and Armitage is sure for a moment he’s going to touch his face, and Armitage does not frankly know what he’ll do if that happens-

But the hand stills, as Ren’s gaze turns rather vacant, like suddenly he’s very far away.

“Ren?” he breathes

_Oh- he’s- this is some kind of trance._

Armitage’s heart starts to race. This is his chance. This must be it!

He carefully ducks under Ren’s arm, grateful for once for his slim frame, and darts past the knight.

Ren catches him before he’s even out the refresher door, one massive arm hooked about his hips. “Behave, Hux.” He’s pressed against the wall and Ren orders his hands up. “I’m going to treat you like the prisoner you insist you are, since you can’t seem to earn yourself any privileges. Spread your legs.”

For a panicked moment Armitage is worried that Ren is actually going to fuck him again, because he’s frankly not sure his body could handle another round with that rocket launcher Ren is passing off as a cock, but he’s left with only confusion as Ren simply begins to wash him instead, even being careful of his shoulder wound.

It’s… kind.

Armitage has no idea what to do with _kind._ Does Ren… actually care, in some twisted way?

“My master has reached out to me. He wishes to see you. You will be clean to be presented to him.”

_Ah. Of course._

Ren only sees him as a useful trophy. Apparently fucking him wasn’t good enough to earn anything else. “I wasn’t aware creatures like you had masters.”

The hand soaping his back hesitates. “You should not resist him. It will not go well for you.”

Armitage snorts derisively. “Has anything since you dragged me here?”

 

***

 

Ren acquires clean clothes for him, a simple black ensemble that Armitage suspects is the underlayer to some manner of trooper armor. It doesn’t fit right, he’s obviously taller and slimmer than most of their armored ilk.

_At least this is closer to their uniform. A better chance of escaping._

Telling himself that feels halfhearted, but he thinks he’s getting better at guarding his thoughts. Ren hasn’t said anything about him plotting since the shower. Armitage isn’t quite sure how to manage it other than to consciously think more… quietly.

It’s not enough to prepare for Ren’s master.

Ren carts him out, manacled but with the radius turned off, marching him through endless identical corridors until they enter a darkened room that seems empty, save an oppressive sort of feeling he gets any time he tries to get a better look at the walls.

_Maybe he’s mad,_ Armitage thinks, looking at the empty space that Ren is staring at, like he’s awaiting orders. Or already getting orders?

Then the holo clicks on.

He knows it’s not _real,_ or at least that the creature isn’t really in the room with them, he _knows,_ but he still instinctually steps back, appalled as Ren’s low tones rumble out “Supreme Leader Snoke.” _This? This is their leader? This shriveled husk?_

“What-” is all he gets out before he feels his mouth forced shut, every motion he might make stilled.

“Director Hux,” the creature begins. It might be smiling. Armitage can’t really be sure. “My apprentice tells me you have a remarkable… will.”

Armitage would have a witty retort for that if he was able to move. The most he can do is shift his eyes, it seems, and catch a glimpse of Kylo Ren beside him. The knight is still, bent on one knee. It’s a submissive gesture. Obedient.

It makes Armitage terribly uneasy.

Even if the creature has pinned Armitage like an insect to a board, it’s somehow worse to know a great hulking monster like Ren _serves_ it. Ren, whose power he’s seen first hand.

The creature chuckles low, like it can hear his thoughts.

“In this case, Director Hux, _will_ may be a kinder way of saying… you have an unreasonable tolerance for _pain._ ” Armitage feels the same sort of tendril sensation he experience with Ren, only amplified. A million creatures slither across his mind and he growls through clenched teeth, unable to even move enough to scream.

Beside him, he senses Ren shift, that tightly controlled obedience sliding long enough for him to know Ren is watching him.

_Oh, I see. Tricked me, did you? A free fuck you didn’t even have to work for, and now you’re probably enjoying watching your Master rip into my mind. You sadistic little-_

“Think of your plans, Hux. This will be far less painful if you do.”

Armitage thinks of rancors and ships and the fine, angular lines of uniforms, gagging on a wracked groan as the force of the tendrils shifts from deeply uncomfortable and invasive to actual pain.

“It is fascinating, this resistance of yours. My apprentice had that element correct. You think you’re on the side of the light, don’t you? Let me remind you, Armitage Hux, the dark has had claim of your soul for years, Forceless though you may be.”

The tendrils _dig_ , Armitage’s vision grows dim, and then he’s back on Coruscant, staring down the long pit that marks the hangers. He whips around. _No- not this one, it’s mine-_

“Everything I can reach with the Force is _mine,_ Armitage Hux. That includes your insignificant little mind.” The creature that Ren serves is stronger here, more intact. More whole. Armitage doesn’t feel him appear beside him, but he does when the Supreme Leader forces him to his knees, unable to anything but watch as Ren, too, appears within his mind.

“You remember this, don’t you? Wasn’t it your _fondest_ memory for a long time? How it kept you warm at night when nothing else did.  It never even occurred to you to feel shame about it until it was far too late. That is how I know you were always meant to linger in the Dark.”

“Kriff… off….” Armitage manages, the effort of speaking along making him feel utterly exhausted.

The Supreme Leader laughs and wrenches Armitage’s head back. “Watch now, young Hux.”

He watches himself approach, the scrawny, smaller teen he used to be. He hadn’t hit his full height yet, not then. Perhaps if he hadn’t been such a weak target….

“Boy!” There’s Brendol, wide and looming in the way he’d gotten with age. Looking at him now, he hardly seems as frightening as Armitage thought he was a child. _This is a real memory, then. Not- whatever Ren was doing._

Brendol rants- their transport will arrive soon, and they’ll be finally free and off to join the Empire, the men and women who should be running the galaxy, and Armitage will finally make himself useful there or so help him Brendol will eject him through an airlock himself.

It’s uncanny, how the expression on his younger self’s face doesn’t change. He’d always thought he had screamed or cried or- something.

Maybe he had always been a monster.

The smaller Armitage looks over the edge, as if gauging the drop and finding it sufficient. He waits for Brendol to draw closer, to yell at him for inattentiveness, as he always did.

It hardly takes any effort to trip him with one foot while pushing him by the shoulder.

Brendol falls with a surprised yelp, the sound gone long before he has any chance of hitting the bottom. Armitage stands on the edge, watching quietly.

Then his younger self simply turns and walks away.

Now, as an adult, seeing it… hurts. It hurts in a way he didn’t know could feel pain. He made a weapon out of a defense, didn’t he- something that could burst and incinerate any ships nearby. Entire ships, not just small ones, not just the command bridges. Hundreds of thousands of lives, wiped out in an instant.

And he’s _proud_ of it.

Something in him _pulls,_ and he feels the pieces of his mind where he holds his designs sifted and weighed. It can’t be real, but it feels like barbs dig into them, more and more painful as he tries to resist. Somewhere outside the memory his throat begins to ache. _Screaming. I must be screaming._  “Ah, yes,” Snoke purrs. “There they are. All your little plans. Now _you will instruct us how to build them.”_ The echo of the command is everywhere, reverberating through him as Snoke’s clawlike hands close over his shirt and pull him up, matching him eye to eye. “You always served the dark, little boy. Always. I lamented the loss of your father’s utility, but you- we will make something useful of you yet. _You will share your designs._ Or it will be so very, very painful for you.”

Snoke tosses him in the memory and Armitage hits the hard, shining durasteel of the audience chamber in his very real present, the holo still looming over him

“Take him back to Canady. He will be reconditioned into a better tool.” _No,_ Armitage gasps in his own mind, his body sore and straining as Ren grasps his shirt to lift him. “Return to me when you are done. We have more to discuss.”

Armitage shudders in Ren’s arms, feeling like he’s falling into literal pieces. He looks up, hoping for any sort of sign in Ren’s eyes that this isn’t happening, that this if he’s very lucky is still a dream-

Ren’s dark eyes don’t look down. “Yes, master.”

  



	5. Explosive Ordinance

Kylo’s chambers feel disconcertingly empty without Hux in them. Something about the way Hux acted like he owned the place, inserting himself into everything, including Kylo’s bed, makes the lack of his presence feel like a greater void. How long had he been here? Hours? A day? And already it feels like the ginger is meant to be a part of the architecture, a part of the very durasteel that makes up the walls.

He isn’t sure he wants to dwell on the reason why.

Snoke had chastised him, rightly, for failing to pull the plans from Hux on his own. For  _ indulging  _ himself when he should have been serving Snoke’s will. 

Yet.

A not insignificant part of him has contemplated going to down to see the engineer in his new quarters, in his new position, but he worries Snoke will  _ know, _ and then he won’t need to worry about the span of a ship between them because Snoke will remove Hux from his grasp entirely and secure him on some other vessel, far away.

_ This is the light. It is temptation. Ignore it. _

He’d seen Hux like a glow in the Force, vibrant and shining and calling to him until his will was broken. Snoke says Hux is of the Dark and will eventually mold himself to it as a tool, but Kylo is not so sure. After all, Hux only killed one man. Kylo has killed many more than that and he is not entirely of the Dark himself. 

Still, the steady fade of Hux’s palpable presence on this ship has been… painful. Kylo has restrained himself, as he must, taken out his anger on consoles and training droids and missions coated in blood, not caring who he was ordered to kill so long as he could expend his energy.

_ I am of the Dark. I will not give in to temptation. I will resist. _

Nothing helps.

He finds himself drifting into his memories of Hux when he sleeps, finding an odd comfort in the biting wit that meets him in this shade of the man who so easily challenged him.

Kylo knows he has a more serious problem on his hands when he wakes up one morning, stomach slick with his own spend, gasping Hux’s name. Chasing the dream becomes an obsession. Days and nights he’s distracted, trying to recreate the visceral feeling that Hux is there, pinned below him and screaming his name.

Canady has noticed something has changed, Kylo is sure of it. He didn’t ascend so high in the Order without being at least a little observant, and Kylo has been more than a little distracted in his duties. 

_ He’ll report it to Snoke. _

_ Snoke will know. Instantly. _

And then what? Kylo might be taken to Snoke in person for training. Hux could be reassigned. Wouldn’t it be better to remove the temptation? The Order has decided it needs the lithe engineer, but he can work elsewhere. Some other ship can bear him and his clever eyes and pretty hair, somewhere far away from Kylo.

Yet no matter what he does, his nights become sleepless. Sometimes he dreams of sex, other nights are spent on the image of Hux broken and lifeless and Kylo is never certain of anything but how devastated it makes him feel.

_ Did I do this? Was it me? _

Hux never answers him.

He has a scheduled meeting with Snoke and Canady soon, to plan a test deployment of the augmented weapon Canady has requested for his prize dreadnaught. Hux’s study of kyber had apparently lent itself quite easily to making the ship’s orbital laser nearly as powerful as the first city-destroying strikes the original Death Star had made on Jedha. If his mind is not clear by then…

It won’t yield anything good.

He calls up the personnel manifest, hovers over the file they’ve made for Hux.  _ Engineer, Research Division. _ If it weren’t for the coding indicating him to be an escape risk, and a designation tied to ‘prisoners of use’, he could pass for any generic low-level officer.

Then Kylo flips to his picture.

Whenever they took the photo his face was yellowed with bruises, his eyes weary. Kylo feels a flash of anger. How dare they? Hux is an  _ asset _ , and they still insist on beating loyalty into him.

_ No- pull yourself together, he is not your concern. _

Although- perhaps he should admit that he’s not being entirely truthful to himself. The smoke rising from his suddenly cleaved-in-twain coffee table would suggest otherwise, and he barely recalled even igniting the saber in his rage.

_ Kriff. _

He takes a deep breath, turning the saber off, trying to focus on containing the wild spill of his emotions. 

_ Perhaps one visit. One. To clear my mind of his presence.  _

He has been trained for years to cast aside weakness, to kill what he cannot use. Hux is a tool, that is all. If Kylo can see him like that, he need not ever think of the pretty ginger again.

Putting on his helmet to make the trek across the ship, Kylo finds the way the officers and troopers instinctually pull away from him more trying than usual, especially as he nears the portions of the ship he rarely bothers to show himself in. He can catch whispers from their minds, the parts projected out into the universe unshielded.

_ Monster. Creature. Killer.  _

He should take them as a point of pride. He’s earned those titles. Snoke even encourages them- that’s the reason for the mask, after all. Yet, as always, they sting a bit. 

The masks ensures no one notices that either.

He’s vaguely surprised to see Canady and Peavey when he reaches the research laboratory, but he has the presence of mind to act like he’d expected to find them there. “Commander. Captain.”

“Ren,” Canady greets him gruffly. “Come to watch the show?”

Kylo grunts in a noncommital fashion through his vocoder. “I am interested in everything of import on this ship, Commander.” He tentatively feels out for flashes of thoughts from either officer, but Canady is so boring to the Force that he feels like a brick weight in the stream, and Peavey’s closed off little mind is no help either. 

There is, however, something about this that pricks at the back of his senses. Just a hint of disquiet. 

Something the Force wants him to see.

 

***

 

He doesn’t have to wait long before they bring him out. Hux is in an unmarked uniform- no rank, therefore no status, save for the small designation that he belongs to the Engineering unit. It’s as good as wearing a prisoner’s jumpsuit, but keeps him a part of the machine of the Order. Blending him in is almost worse… he will gain no attention, no praise.

He is simply a cog, not a person. Not here.

Hux doesn’t seem to notice him lurking amongst the other high officers. Kylo supposes that might be a good thing. Hux is keeping his head down, not making eye contact with the people who can most easily decide he isn’t of use anymore. 

He wears a different set of cuffs now, slim and easily hidden by the starched sleeve of his slightly too-wide uniform.  _ Shock cuffs.  _ Snoke had made Kylo wear them, once, to help him unlearn certain habits his prior master had instilled.  _ Corrective measures, _ Snoke had called them. 

Kylo feels oddly pleased that someone here thinks they need them to keep Hux in line.  _ He hasn’t given up. There’s fight in him yet. _

But they seem to have other methods as well. Hux is sporting a black eye and he walks gingerly, like he’s been hit somewhere near the kidneys. Kylo  _ reaches _ without moving, threading a tendril of Force out to survey Hux’s life energy. It’s… quiet. There’s no bursting drive for survival, no hint of the clever, conniving mind that couldn’t stop plotting against him. 

It’s almost like looking at a different person.

_ Karking hells. What did they do to you? _

Hux pauses.

Kylo’s breath catches.

Hux turns and looks at him. Looks  _ right at him, _ and Kylo feels the delicate thread of his own searching energy forcibly  _ repelled _ by a flash of that furious, instinctual  _ will _ he remembered so well.

_ “You fucking bastard.” _

The words ring as clearly in his mind as though Hux had said them in his ear. Then the ginger turns away and keeps going to the platform where the engineers have set up… whatever it is they’re going to show. 

Kylo shifts his weight. He feels like he’s been slapped, but something about it only makes him more  _ interested.  _

_ Kark, this isn’t helping at all.  _

Looking at Hux is almost certainly making it  _ worse, _ really. 

He ought to go.

“Bored, Lord Ren?” Canady’s gruff voice draws Kylo’s attention to the fact that he and Peavey are both side-eyeing him.   _ Shit shit shit- focus. Don’t draw attention.   _ “You don’t have to remain, I know these  _ administrative _ matters are not your area-”

“It’s fine,” Kylo keeps his voice steady in the vocoder. “Go ahead with your demonstration.”

“Hmph.” Canady turns and taps a comm, connecting them with the larger room below. “Begin the test sequence.”

 

***

 

In retrospect, things could have gone worse. 

Armitage begins the test sequence well enough. He has the impression they’re making him do it personally to ensure he doesn’t use the opportunity to blow anyone up. Kyber is terribly volatile, after all- but it would take far more in materials or energy than he is allotted to trigger a truly relevant blast.

Otherwise he’d only be removing himself, and what would the point be in that.

Besides, for  _ weeks _ anytime he’d even looked at the kyber oddly he’d been shocked. And reconditioned. And shocked again. 

At this rate he’s going to require regular electrical overload to sleep properly. 

He’d resisted at first. Fought and screamed and refused to help. But slowly they’d worn him down until his only resistance was the quietness of his own mind, emptied of thought. He gives them drips of information. Pieces they would have thought of eventually on their own. Feigned cooperation- it’s enough to keep whatever Snoke did to him from ruining him entirely. Fighting will accomplish nothing but his own death in the end… at least this way he can control the timing.

For the span of a few days he’d thought about shaping himself into another Galen Erso, molding a weakness into the design, sneaking a message out and trusting Leia would get it. 

At the first sign of deviation from his assigned tasks, he was beaten to unconsciousness by the stormtroopers assigned to mind him. He woke up on the floor of his cell, sticky with his own blood, and scarcely had the courtesy of a sonic-shower before they put him back into the research lab, his injuries obvious. He would make no friends, no allies, not when they could all see what sort of treatment he was subject to and what they’d receive if they were seen to help him.

Galen Erso he is not.

So he’d quieted himself, shut down his thoughts, his feelings, his instincts until he is just a set of hands and a processing mind. 

And then he’d felt karking Kylo Ren nudging at his mind and watching him from above. Like he isn’t the reason Armitage was stuck here, doing everything he hated and was sworn to work against. 

_ Kylo kriffing Ren. _

His fury hits like a wave. Weeks of avoiding any emotion, of burying every last one of his feelings only have them all surge at him at once, still fresh and burning. He tries to swallow them down as he shoves Ren out. He has a demonstration to give.

Unfortunately, he is already distracted. 

The test sequence runs as he closes the last of the safeties. Manual labor. That’s all he is now. Relegated to advancing the inelegant machinery of guns. They’ll eventually tear the things that make him truly useful out of his mind, slowly ripped out one at a time in excruciating detail, compelled by the  _ thing _ they call a leader that so few of them seem to truly be aware of. 

The warning he misses is a low click and hiss in one of the gauges. Too wrapped up in his own mind, he doesn’t hear it, doesn’t walk his steps back to check the sound, doesn’t notice the red light that clicks on and pops, quickly burning out with a faulty bulb. He’s only loosely aware of their issues with the manufactured kyber they have- it’s not like the natural veins he’s worked with. It’s far more fragile. It does not have the same capacity for energy storage. He doesn’t know how First Order equipment is prone to failures due to the limited parts they had for so long and the desire to build everything new as fast as possible, because no one within the Order discusses their structural problems. They are are an army in service of a war most of them never stopped fighting long enough to realize it had ended. Everything else is secondary.

Armitage doesn’t talk- he isn’t up there to explain anything, just to apply parts and energy in the correct order, which he does. The only communication he has with his  _ new _ superiors is a brief look up after the testing sequence has run and the safety parameters are ostensibly all in place. “You may begin.” He keeps forgetting what her name is. He is to address her as Ma’am, or Major. Nothing else.

He closes the circuit that will allow a real charge to filter into the kyber and restarts the sequence. From here, he’s free to simply back up behind the blast shield. The rest of the steps are being handled from the secure watchstations above. Only he and the other  _ expendable  _ staff are on the same level as the test. Troopers and other press-ganged prisoners like himself.

_ Wonder what they did to be stranded here with me. _

It has to be a punishment.  _ Look, we don’t care if you die. _

He’d never have done that to Mitaka.

The smell is his first clue that something is amiss. Hard copper, and something almost sulfuric…. 

Armitage’s eyes snap wide. “Hold the charge! It’s overloading!” He waves a hand at the towers, who seems to watch him impassively.  _ Karking hells, do they think I’m lying?  _  “Overloading! Are you listening to me?” 

He can see stormtroopers moving out of the corner of his eyes, probably coming to contain  _ him.  _ Certainly not coming to contain the kyber. He whirls to face the closest researcher, a small black-haired girl. 

“Run- tell them all to run!”

She jumps, a frightened look on her face, like she’s not sure if she should believe him. “Run!” he screams again. This time she does, bolting for the blast shield. He can already hear the sparking, sputtering noise of the other equipment around the kyber, trying in vain to absorb the excess.

He should let them all die, he really should. He’d been willing to kill entire ships full of people, hadn’t he? An unfettered blast from his shield weapon could incinerate destroyers at close range, and even ones farther off might be damaged enough to lose life support, and that’d have the same effect.

Somehow he doesn’t want all these other engineers, the researchers to be killed by an  _ accident.  _ How many were like him? Indentured and tortured and forced into their roles, scared to disobey?

He growls to himself and runs for the ground floor safety controls.

There’s yelling above him, orders for stormtroopers to grab him, but he manages to yank the emergency override before they get there- but not before the sound near the kyber becomes a high, keening whine.

“Shit.”

A stormtrooper grabs him. Armitage may have sympathy for the engineers, but it does not extend to the faceless troopers who guard him- he twists so the trooper’s back is to the kyber and folds, hanging on to the trooper’s chestplate, using him as an unknowing shield-

Then the blast hits.

It’s red-tinged and violent, throwing Armitage far across the room. The trooper does not move from where he lands, the back of his armor shattered.  Armitage feels a searing pain in his leg as he stands, limping  _ away _ , anywhere that is  _ away.  _ Kyber is unpredictable. He has to hope the first blast didn’t set off any of the other kyber stored on the research floor- theoretically every shard is secure and heavily protected, but obviously not all the First Order equipment really works as well as advertised.

A secondary blast hits and there’s screaming, shouting as a group of technicians bears the brunt of it.

Hux darts around the corner into a corridor. Oh, they’ll kill him. They’ll kill for this, won’t they? And  _ dammit  _ because that could be a  _ relief _ but instead he’s kriffing stuck with the desire to  _ live  _ and that pervasive kernel of hope in his belly that just won’t give up on thinking he might eventually get out of this karking ship in one piece.

It’d been quiet for so long, but there had been no chance. No opportunity to run, no evading the guards. Apparently that hadn’t been enough to kill his sense of hope.

_ Which way is the hangar? Could I- maybe now, maybe while they’re distracted- _

“Hux?”

The sound of the vocoder makes him flash with fury. Of course. Of course he couldn’t just run, of course his personal monster would come and ensure he was taken back.

“Hux, are you alright? You’re bleeding.”

“Hmm?” Ah. So he is. “I don’t see how that’s any business of yours,  _ Lord _ Ren.” Armitage turns, limping. Walking… somewhere. Anywhere else.

“Hux. Let me help you.”

“You have done  _ enough _ ,” Armitage snarls. “Go kneel for your master if you wish to help someone. I don’t need anything from you.”

A hand grasps his shoulder and Armitage shoves it off. Kylo grasps his wrist and pulls, but Armitage is expecting it and whips around to smack him, only to have his palm bounce painfully off Ren’s mask. He yelps, kicking uselessly into Kylo’s shins as Kylo shoves him into the corridor wall. “Stop- Hux,  _ stop it. _ I am trying to  _ help-” _

Armitage growls, but he doesn’t have the energy to keep up a physical struggle. They haven’t been feeding him enough for that, not to mention the sleeping situation. So, despite himself, his limbs fall loose and pliant where Ren holds him, fully expecting to be choked or worse.

Ren strokes a gloved finger along his cheek, under the line of the wound there, wiping away some of the blood. “This isn’t that bad. Your leg is worse. Let me see it?”

There’s no good way to do it, so Armitage simply slides to the floor with Ren’s help and lets him push up his trouser pant leg. There’s a long slice where a piece of plasteel had cut him, and he can see now that it had broken off, half of it still sticking there. Ren removes it delicately, with a defter, gentler hand that Armitage had imagined he possessed.

“There. That should be better. A little bacta and-

“Now this is interesting.”

Armitage’s eyes flash over to the door. Canady is standing there, arms folded, face impassive, though it seems Peavey has assumed the look of smug superiority for both of them. He wonders how it looks, him on the floor with his leg in Ren’s arms, Ren crouching like he cares.

Like he  _ cares. _

_ Hah. Surely they can’t think _ ….

“You realize I will have to speak with the Supreme Leader about this, Ren. He’s  _ concerned  _ about your mental state. Might be time for some reconditioning for yourself, hm?” He nods to a set of stormtroopers waiting behind him. “Retrieve our researcher. Escort him to his cell. No stops.”

The troopers come around, pausing when they see Ren. His face can’t be seen with the mask on, and Armitage can’t picture what expression lurks underneath as the knight slowly rises and steps away, but there’s a hint of it in Armitage’s mind, like a silent version of the pressure of his Force, as though he’d just reached out and brushed over Armitage’s cheek, sad but fond. The troopers pick Armitage up by the arms, nudging him in front of them with their rifles. 

“Send a message to the Supreme Leader,” he hears Canady murmur to Peavey as he limps down the hall, mind churning. “Tell him I wish to discuss a leash for his dog.”

 

***

 

“I am disappointed in you, Kylo Ren.”

Kylo feels it across the Force before Snoke even has all the words out. Disgust. Loathing. Disappointment. The Supremacy has arrived especially for this, jumping out of its safe refuge in the far reaches of space to discipline  _ him.  _ “Master, I-”

“Hush. I do not keep a fighting dog so it can  _ speak _ , Kylo. You are a weapon. Nothing more, so long as you continue to  _ fail _ in your studies. Learn your place.”

The casual dismissal feels like a slap to the face, especially with Canady’s pride a palpable mass of energy next to him. Without looking, he can feel Canady’s relief that Snoke would not let Kylo continue on unchecked and his hopes that the First Order may yet be turned into a proper army and not just the vehicle of a Force-wielding…  _ thing. _

Kylo wonders if Canaday realizes Snoke has heard all those thoughts and more for years.

Then again, Snoke does not keep Canady around for his  _ wisdom.  _ He is a respected tactician, and the oldest, fiercest parts of the Order, the ones that fled the Empire’s fall, follow him closely. 

“Do you have what you need from the engineer, Commander?”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

“Good. Bring him here. I believe an object lesson is in order.”

Kylo can’t help the flare of protective instincts he feels as Canady smugly marches off. He knows it is the Light- the Dark would not care,  _ does not care _ , but- he has not quite killed that spark yet. “Master, he’s useful- brilliant, even, we should not throw away a valuable asset simply because-”

“Because what, Kylo Ren? Because you cannot control yourself? Because you foolishly took that boy into your _ bed _ ?”

Growling, Kylo takes a step forward. The guards surrounding Snoke all snap their weapons to the ready, but Snoke is already there, one wizened, claw-like hand clutching his throne and propping him up. The lightning ripples out of him and into Kylo like a thousand sharp, hot whips, dropping him to his knees when he loses his breath.

If Snoke’s damaged face could still manage a smile Kylo is certain he would bear one. “Know your place, I said.”

Kylo swallows his snarl.  _ Snoke is right. I cannot grow without learning to follow orders. _

If only he truly believed that.

His hand curls into a fist as he feels the first decisive flick of anger. Of rage.

And swallows it, burying the tiniest flicker of an idea in the back of his mind.

“Yes, master.”

 

***

 

“Get up.” 

Armitage blinks as the lights in his cell jump from 0 to 100, too bright too fast. His leg is throbbing- has been for hours. They didn’t bother giving him any bacta. It’s probably going to get infected. 

_ Wouldn’t that be something, if I die from infection and not from one of these idiots firing a blaster. _

The man waiting in his cell door is the slim older officer from before- Peavey, Armitage thinks his name is. He seems to enjoy the torture more than his superior, though Armitage isn’t sure if that is because he enjoys torture itself or simply torturing  _ him. _

“Ooh, I merit an officer as an escort now? I’m going up in the universe.”

“Shut up. I am escorting you to the Supreme Leader, where you will remain quiet and respectful.” The  _ or else _ doesn’t need to be stated. They both know the score.

Armitage limps through the corridors, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that he’s marching to his own funeral. There are stormtroopers escorting them, in addition to Peavey, and Armitage almost laughs when he’s marched into the hangar.  _ Well, if they don’t kill me at least I can find my way back. _

Assuming he has any opportunities to escape again, that is.

Despite his melancholy thoughts, a small part of him hopes he will.

He stumbles when he looks up at the shuttle he’s being guided to and spots Kylo Ren’s hulking form in the door. His leg twinges, and he lets out a low hiss that earns him the nudge of a blaster in his back. “No malingering. Get up there.”

Thrust into a seat by the stormtroopers and buckled in, Armitage glares under his lashes when Ren swirls into the seat across from him. 

They don’t speak, and Armitage looks away, keeping his eyes on his knees, but Armitage can feel something shifting, feel Ren’s energy nudging around his mind. Not forcing its way in, not like it did before, but… simply letting Armitage know he’s there. 

He looks up again. He has the sense that Ren is staring at him despite the mask. Armitage’s brow furrows. Consciously, slowly, he reaches back, in his own mind, letting his eyes close and grasping for those brushing tendrils he can feel.

_ Hux,  _ Ren’s voice breathes across his mind, quiet and low.

_ Ren. What do you want? _

_ Shh. You’re shouting. Just hang on to the connection, you just need to think in my direction, not broadcast to anyone listening. _

_ Forgive me for my inexperience in telepathy, but that did not answer my question. What do you want? _

_ I need you to explain something to me. About kyber. _

He lifts a brow, glancing at the expressionless mask. A tiny spark of hope churns in his stomach.  _ What do you need to know? _

 

***

 

The entrance to Snoke’s chambers is grandiose, all black and red.

_ No wonder he and Ren get on. _

There are no stormtroopers here. Armitage is led in with Peavey’s hand clamped on his elbow, and it remains there, painfully digging in, as the man in gold contemplates them. Ren walks alone, off to the side, not looking at them. Canady is already in the in the room, looking self-important to Snoke’s side, watching the proceedings along with all of Snoke’s faceless guards.

“Armitage Hux.” Snoke rises from his throne with some effort. His steps are careful, his slippers soundless on the polished floor. Armitage meets his eye, briefly, only to look away again. He can’t trust himself not to wince, and he doesn’t want to show weakness.

_ Survive,  _ he repeats in his own mind, not just for his own benefit. _ Survive. Do what you need to. _

Snoke chuckles. “I had hoped you would, you know. Your mind- useful enough, in its way. But our researchers can manage the same, in time.”

He curls his gnarled hand and Armitage is yanked forcefully out of Peavey’s grasp and to his knees. “You may go. This is a matter for myself and my… apprentice.”

Armitage can hear the clack of boots as Canady and Peavey depart. He imagines Peavey’s rather disappointed that he won’t get to see the execution. Because that’s what this is, isn’t it?

“Yes. But you should be proud, here you serve a greater purpose.” Snoke beckons with one finger, and Ren rises from where he has been quietly kneeling and steps forward. “You have provided my apprentice with temptation. A temptation that he must resist. That he must overcome with force. And with that, he will grow stronger. More worthy of his position. More worthy of being called Vader’s heir.”

Ren does not say a thing. He won’t, Armitage knows, feeling fear flicker up his spine and letting it linger there, palpable. 

“Kylo Ren. This man is a distraction.” He gestures, and Hux finds himself perfectly stilled, unable to move. “Eliminate him.”

Ren moves somewhere behind him. He can hear a long inhale.

With a sizzle, a lightsaber ignites.


	6. The Insurance Policy

The key to everything is that Snoke, for all his power over the Force, is not omniscient. He is just as blind to mortal vanity as anyone else in trusting his skills. Kylo has hidden things from him before by accident. It seems like whatever he  _ tries _ to hide is easily revealed, but not the things he does not think about. Not the things that do not  _ matter. _

His mask for this effort is a mantra.  _ I must kill him. I must. I will kill him. _ It’s peppered with thoughts of Hux, with his surprisingly clever eyes, Hux with his gun out. Hux in Kylo’s bed.

Snoke will see this as further evidence of Kylo’s turmoil. As more signs of his terrible weakness to the light.

_ I hope. _

He hadn’t told Hux precisely what he means to do- he’s honestly not entirely sure himself. If the plan is too clear, Snoke will be able to see it. Instinct has always served him better.

Kylo restrains his temper, barely, when Snoke forces Hux to the floor. He can feel the disdain emanating from Snoke toward him when his master senses his anger, and under it, a trace of jealousy.

His apprentice is not meant to be devoted to anyone but him.

“Eliminate him,” Snoke sneers. This is a test. Everything is a test, when it comes to Snoke. And Kylo is used to failure. 

This time he aims to win.

The lightsaber flicks on, red light tinting Hux’s pale skin, reflected on the floor. He breathes, lifting the weapon, feeling the heft of it in his hand.  _ So easy _ , a voice inside him whispers.  _ Just kill him- you can be free of the light, just kill him- you can be stronger than all of them if you want, worthy of your place, if you kill him- _

It is not the voice of his own mind, though he’s heard it for so long that it may as well be. There is a moment where he almost heeds it, almost lets the feeling push his arms into place above Hux’s throat and pull the blade down-

_ No. _

He pulls back, and with that, the Force opens to him and he can  _ see.  _ There is only one way out for both of them.  _ One. _

“Boy!” Snoke roars. “Are you too  _ weak _ to remove him? He is just a man, Kylo. There will be others, if you wish for sex. Do not be tempted!”

_ He hasn’t moved against me himself. _

_ Is he afraid? _

The thought makes him lift his eyes to Snoke’s, challenging, even as he puts the quieter, hidden parts of his mind to other use. He had, after all, come prepared. Tiny fragments, scarcely visible, of red crystal slide from his tunic, almost invisible in the red glow of his saber.

Slowly, carefully, they glide just above the floor, silent and too small to matter.

“Don’t you refuse me, boy. You will destroy him and you will  _ thank me _ for the privilege.” 

It happens slowly, but Kylo knows this is just the Force, guiding him and showing him the way. The way of the  _ Light _ . It must look so much faster to Hux.

_ Don’t be afraid, _ he casts his energy toward Hux, feeling his fear. 

Snoke’s hand lifts, and the first spark of electricity builds in his palm. The kyber crystals fly, merging together into a single group at Snoke’s feet and flying upward just as the first burst of lighting ripples out, aiming for Hux and Kylo alike-

The kyber shimmers, glowing beautifully as it absorbs the energy, the shine finally drawing Snoke’s attention-

Kylo grabs Hux’s collar and pulls, yanking him free of Snoke’s hold and throwing him back, away from the light-

Even a small amount of kyber is dangerous, unharnessed. A Jedi failing to make their weapon correctly risks taking off their own arms if the thing explodes on them.

And beyond that, there’s always been rumors that kyber makes choices for itself. It knows what it wants to happen. What the  _ Force _ wills.

Kylo can believe it as the explosion ruptures in front of him. The Praetorian Guards are moving, but there is no way for them to get there, and no way to stop it as it rips a hole through the Supreme Leader’s throat. Two of the Guard are cast down as well, launched away and landing unmoving. 

Holding his lightsaber like a shield, Kylo grunts as his boots slide along the polished floor, staving off the heat with his will and the kyber serving his own command in the form of his saber. 

When the glow of the burst ends, Snoke’s head is rolling uselessly across the floor, and six Praetorian guards are circling him. The Force, it seems, has done its part in lending its aid. Here, he will be on his own.

He grits his teeth and holds his saber up,  _ reaching _ with his own power.

_ Come and get me, you fuckers. _

 

***

 

Armitage lands with a yelp, shielding his eyes from the glow. “Ren!”

For a terrifying moment, he can’t see the large, broad shape of Ren’s black-clad back. He blinks, eyes watering in the light, scarcely registering how far Ren managed to toss him and forgetting entirely to be angry that he’d been thrown at all. 

Six of the red-clad guards are circling Ren, and though he know the knight is strong, he’s not sure how well he can take on six fighters likely as well-trained as himself.  _ Kriff, kriff-  _ What is he supposed to do to help? He’d known Ren had some manner of plan with the kyber, but they hadn’t discussed anything about any guards, or what to do after-

The sound of boots along the floor draws his eye. Peavey, the one who’d made his life so karking miserable over the last few weeks, is running in from the entryway-

And he has a blaster.

Armitage smiles ferally, forcing himself up and racing at a sprint.  _ Have the guards, Ren. This one is mine.  _ He closes the distance fast, Peavey too distracted by trying to shout orders at the guards to notice before Armitage slams into him and knocks him to the ground. Peavey is quick enough to try and get a shot off, but it’s wide and soon they’re both scrabbling for the weapon. Armitage grasps hold of Peavey’s hair and slams his head off the ground, once, twice, until his grip loosens enough for Armitage to get his own hand in and near the trigger. Kicking and punching, Peavey forces Armitage off his head, but he can’t break their shared hold on the blaster between them as Armitage takes the blows in stride, a trickle of blood running down from his lip. Peavey has more weight, more physical strength, and he forces himself up. Armitage hangs on like a mynock, refusing to ease his grip, and soon enough they’re both grasping for the thing with both hands as the blaster tips skyward. 

He’s not sure which of them actually pulls the trigger. The shot flies up and Armitage snaps his head back while yanking Peavey forward, still feeling a sear along his cheek from the heat, a wound instantly cauterized. There’s too much adrenaline in his system for the pain to register as he stumbles back, the blaster freed from Peavey’s suddenly limp hands.

Peavey collapses, a more damaging wound rupturing his forehead and dissolving a section of his officer’s hat. 

The sizzle of Ren’s lightsaber reminds him that there’s still another fight afoot. Three down- _kriffing hells,_ _how did Ren manage that?_ But three up, and Ren is not unscathed. His tunic is torn, there’s blood on his shoulder, and he’s staving them off by careful positioning and utilizing both his saber and a purloined electro-bisento, no doubt taken off one of the fallen. 

He lifts the blaster. One shot fires off quickly, striking a guard squarely in the side of the helmet. 

It does nothing. 

The guard half-turns, however, glancing his way, and Ren takes the opportunity to swoop in and ram his saber through the guard’s chest plate. Armitage analyzes quickly. Two remain up, obviously resistant to blaster fire, but the armor must have some manner of weak point. Maybe the thighs, the armor doesn’t appear to extend there, hidden by those big panels of fabric-

He almost fails to duck in time as a red and black whip, humming with electricity, flies over his head. 

The guard is damaged, from the initial explosion, but not dead. Armitage is fast, but so is the whip- he has to dive and roll to escape it a second time, firing off several shots, all deflected, even the ones toward the guard’s thighs.  _ Some sort of energy field, _ the rational part of his brain supplies.  _ Deflection. Like a shield. Perhaps- with the right shift in frequency- _

Not that any of that is helpful right now. 

He fires off another volley, and he does manage to at least punch a hole through the fabric panels the guard wears, though he can’t tell if he’s managed to actually wound the soldier- the burn of the whip wrapping his arm and yanking is overwhelming, and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to manage beyond trying to rip his arm free as he’s dragged closer. A shot fires from his trapped hand, scorching the ceiling and carving through one of the holds for the curtains, sending a long panel of red sinking to the floor. “Ren!”  he shouts, too frightened to be ashamed that he’s calling for help. 

The guard’s armor hums quietly, an uncomfortable feeling emitting from it-  _ magnetism, _ his mind registers unhelpfully- he’s far more concerned with the red-gloved hand reaching for his throat.

“Re-” he chokes as the guard squeezes.

In his own mind, Armitage is a mix of terror and manic laughter.  _ After all that, I’ll still be dead. Unbelievable.   _ He gasps, fending off the sharp end of the whip with his one free arm.

_ If I die you had better kill them, you karking arsehole…. _

 

***

 

Kylo is in pain. Kylo is struggling, his muscles straining. He’s never, not once, fought a group of people as strong as this. 

_ Deliberate, probably. Snoke would not want me to be able to kill them. He held me back, in case of… this very eventuality. _

_ Typical. _

The more ridiculous part is how fucking  _ loyal _ they still seemed to be even with Snoke dead. They might as well be droids, they’re so single-minded. 

But now they’re down to two- no, three- his eye notes, watching Hux in his periphery, attempting to put up a fight.  _ Kriff. _

He has to end this faster. 

Parrying and dodging between the remaining two is working fine to protect him, but he cannot quite get a blow off himself- he needs to change tactics. Spinning in closer than is likely wise, he’s snagged by the hilt of a voulage and drawn close enough that his saber is pinned out of damaging range, and his stolen voulage is too long to cut back in and do any damage..

_ Fucking- shit kriff fuck- _

Hux, however, is screaming his name, his pretty face marred and turning red in the guard’s tight hold. Kylo growls, starting to march that way, only to be cut off by the other guard and their arbir. 

He has to make a choice. 

Hux doesn’t have the force. But he does know weapons. And technology. The Praetorian weapons are both, all electrically charged marvels meant to stave off mundane weapons and hold their own even against lightsabers.

It makes him wonder if Snoke knew this would eventually happen. He had not been a Sith, not really, but he knew enough of their teachings.

The apprentice usually killed the master.

Kylo lets go of his weapons and charges the guard with the arbir with a determined focus. He’s not worried about being hurt- kriff, he’s not worried about being killed. 

He needs that damned knife. 

The guard is clearly not expecting him to resort to headbutting to force him to loosen his grip on one of the daggers, but Kylo does, giving himself a pounding headache as his head connects with the armor. 

_ Must check for a concussion. _

_ Later. _

He pulls with Force and hand alike, ripping the blade from the hard glove of the guard, and hurls it, Force-directed, toward Hux. “Catch!” he shouts, hoping the redhead is still conscious enough to do so. The voulage comes down behind him and he whirls, catching it while summoning his saber back with his free hand. The remaining arbir slices a painful line across his back and he  _ howls _ , expending his rage in a vicious series of blows as soon as the hilt of his saber meets his hand.

When he’s finished, both guards are down, permanently, and there is a distinct smell of charred flesh behind him. Hux is sitting, shakily, next to a smoldering corpse, murmuring something about shared frequencies and power sources. Kylo is beside him in an instant, pulling off his cowl to wrap around Hux’s thin, bruised frame. “Are you alright?”

“Mmm? I- yes?” He blinks, as if unsure of himself, then nods, more confidently. “Yes.” He exhales, looking around, and Kylo can sense him pulling his mind back together, assembling all those clever little pieces that make him such a deadly asset to his research team. “I don’t suppose there’s a way we can simply fly out of here?”

“Canady will probably have gone back to his ship. He’ll realize something is amiss soon- the man’s no fool. The Supreme Leader has a shuttle, though, we should be able to take that-”

“What about the weapon?”

Kylo lifts a brow. “What about it?”

“That dreadnaught is working on an upgraded version of an orbital cannon that can do… terrible things, Ren. It’s based on my design, I can’t just… leave it there. They could wipe out cities.” Hux is probably as close to pleading and worried as the man is capable of getting. 

“If there was a way to… destroy them… would you want to?” Kylo asks cautiously, hoping the possible concussion isn’t making his judgement a little sketchy here. They should just be running. That would be easiest. They can figure out the destination later….

Hux’s cool eyes meet his. “I signed up for death when I designed those shields, Ren. I’ll… I’ll live with it, if this saves people in the long-run.  _ My  _ people.” His jaw is set. 

Kylo runs his tongue over his teeth. “Alright. I have an idea. But we’ll need to get you into something else- you look like a prisoner, no one will believe you’re anything but a runaway who belongs back in the cells. Besides, I don’t know who’s seen your face- we’ll need to keep you hidden.”

“What do you suggest?”

 

***

 

Armitage looks down, plucking at the black fabric. “This feels as stupid as it looks, you know.”

“Shut up. Shoulders back. Just- try and look broader. Bigger. Right, like that. That’s… as close as we’re going to get.”

“How do you  _ fight _ in this, honestly. It’s  _ heavy. _ ” He glares down at the tunic, the wide belt that balances awkwardly above his hips without Ren’s girth to support it. At least the gloves are nice, but that’s really the only redeeming quality he can find.  All the fabric sort of changes his frame, widening it, but he’s not sure he really makes a passable  _ Lord Ren. _ “I’m probably going to trip as soon as we get in the corridor.”

“Don’t be a baby. Let’s get the helmet on.” 

That proves to be another endeavor- Armitage is not used to having his vision restricted, and he does not have the benefit of the force to keep him from walking into walls. “It’s dark,” he grumbles, throwing himself off again when his voice comes out through the vocoder, low and growly. 

“I’ll walk in front of you. Just follow my lead, they’re used to me being kind of an asshole, so you can just kind of glare at everyone and they’ll move.” Ren has wrapped Snoke’s gold robe around himself, over his undershirt and Hux’s plain trousers. Fortunately Snoke was even taller than Ren, so the robe pools nicely around his boots, hiding them, despite barely being wide enough to contain his massive chest.  He used the ash of a section of burned curtain to mark some patterns across his face- it looks vaguely familiar, like something Armitage has seen when he’s bothered to pay attention to the Senate, but he’s never cared enough about politics to do that too often. Ren is, ostensibly, playing some sort of diplomatic envoy that “Lord Ren” is escorting across the ship. Since people apparently never see the man without his helmet on, his face is the less dangerous one to reveal. 

“How can they tell if I’m glaring through your idiotic mask?”

“Just turn the mask toward them. They’ll assume you’re glaring. Ready?”

They march through the ship, Ren gliding serenely in front of him, Armitage at his shoulder, watching for cues about which direction to turn and when to pretend to wave his hand to open doors (something Ren himself is doing far more discreetly). 

It’s not long, with officers saluting and scrambling out of his way, before they reach the well-secured area Ren intends to take him to. Two stormtroopers guard the chamber, but Ren puts them down easily with a wave of his hand, crumpling them bonelessly to the floor. 

The room is a circle, not well-lit save for the glow of instruments at its center. A woman is there, in the middle, muttering, her voice low. She’s wrapped in a cocoon of instruments, almost like half a medical pod, nutrient lines drifting from her veins. The panel in front of her is a single, compressed version of an entire set of bridge controls. 

“What… Ren, what the kriff is this?”

He walks around in front of her, taking off his mask to see better, and-

He recognizes her.

“Is she….”

“She was a commander, yes. I saw her in your-”

“Yes.” Armitage steps closer, but it’s as though she can’t see him, can’t even register his presence. “Commander Sloane?” He waves a hand across her eyes, but nothing changes “What happened to to her?”

“She’s an insurance policy. Snoke showed her to me- bragging, I think. Said he kept the greatest threats to him closest at hand, and on the tightest leash.” There’s a note of bitterness in his voice that Armitage can’t miss.  _ Ah. And you were closest of all.  _ “He said he… broke her, in a way. But he didn’t want to kill her, in case he needed her again.”

“In case someone else threatened him and he needed the leverage she had with the Order.” Armitage remembers it- that’s why she wanted his father back, to consolidate her own position against Snoke.  He looks over the equipment again, surveying the exact systems she has access to. “Is she… the secondary bridge?”

“Tertiary. The  _ Supremacy  _ is a large ship. If the bridge itself is destroyed, there is a secondary bridge farther in, harder to hit, that the officers can move to. But with her here, the entire front half of the destroyer can be blown off and she can still seal the remnants and jump the rest to hyperspace.”

“That’s….”  _ Clever. Awful, but clever. _ He can see it- the escape commands, the overrides-  _ oh.  _ “But she also has weapons. A last resort if the hyperdrive cannot be activated?”

“Yes. Snoke would never let himself be killed in a firefight- he’d be in his shuttle and fleeing at the first sign of trouble.”

“Leaving her to wipe out everything that remains.”

“Yeah.” Ren steps closer, just next to Armitage, almost touching. “I thought- if you need the destroyer eliminated-”

Armitage nods. “Yes.” He reaches for the weapon controls, easily recognizable. Targeting systems, missiles- nothing responds. Surveying the panel again with a frown, he realizes the problem. “It’s biometrically sealed?”

“Probably. Snoke wouldn’t have wanted anyone walking in here and doing… well, this.”

He chews his lip. His weapons are deadly, on a massive scale. He shouldn’t feel the pang of ethics here, with a single person. But he won’t  _ use _ Sloane. Not like Snoke did. “I want her to choose, if she has to pull the trigger. Can you reach her?”

Ren nods. “I can try.”

“Do it.” Ren holds a hand over her head, quietly concentrating. Armitage just talks, his words soft. 

“Commander Sloane- it’s Rae, isn’t it? Rae, you knew my father a long time ago. Brendol Hux. My name is Armitage.” He inhales, noticing that at some point Ren’s free hand landed on the small of his back. It’s an oddly comforting weight. “I’m afraid the Empire you wanted failed. You were taken over by the force you always feared. I don’t know how much you remember of that- maybe you know. Maybe not. But he’s dead now, and you’re free. Free to choose what you do. You have override controls- he probably forbade you from using them except in an emergency- but you have them. And there is a dreadnaught, very close by, that has the schematics to make weapons that can destroy the republic. I know you never wanted the Republic to reform- but the people that have these weapons are not your Empire. They are not the system of law and order you wanted to serve. They are the same sort of killers who led to the Empire’s destruction, ones who think order is worth an entire planet’s worth of lives in trade.” 

Her eyes flicker. He can’t tell if he’s getting through, but Ren’s hand shifts along his back, a slow, warm stroke, encouraging him to continue. 

“I’m not sure if you’ll be able to get out of there, but- you can take control of the greatest ship in the fleet, from here. Wipe out that one- the dreadnaught- and you will be able to rebuild with your own ideas. In the way you wanted.” He takes her hand briefly and squeezes the limp, cool limb gently. 

“I’ll let you choose. You deserve that, Commander Sloane.”

They leave her in silence. Ren assures him she could hear him, even though she didn’t respond. He seems to have hope about it. Armitage assumes the Force is telling him something. Hopefully it’s something good.

They’re almost back to Snoke’s chamber when a familiar voice calls to them. “Lord Ren.” 

Armitage turns in tandem with Ren, trying not to panic as he deepens his voice even for the vocoder. “Canady.”

“No- not you, Hux- he hasn’t told you. I’ve seen him with his mask off.” Canady is flanked by black clad troopers that look far more vicious than the generic stormtroopers. “Rude to take things from dead men, isn’t it?”

“He didn’t need it any longer,” Ren says bluntly. Armitage can feel the whisper of the Force in his mind, emanating from the gold-clad knight.  _ Run. Run when I give the signal.  _

“Funny,” Canaday says without a trace of humor. “I find I can say the same of you.” 

He signals the troopers and Kylo  _ moves  _ beside Armitage, his blade out and parrying just as the blaster shots arrive, shifting in front of Armitage.  _ Go!  _ Ren’s voice echoes in his head.

Armitage takes off, sprinting back into the Leader’s chambers, snatching up Peavey’s blaster again and running toward the door in the back where Ren had told him there was shuttle access. “Ren!” 

“Go!” the knight shouts, chasing after him into the small bay, heavy blaster fire erupting in his wake. Armitage shoots out the door access panel once they’re both in.

“Can you fly?”

“I can fly.” Ren leads him up the ramp and Armitage guards the door as it slowly closes, opening fire on a group of troopers that run in from what must be the hangar control. “Ren! They’re going to seal the hangar!”

“I see it, I see it.” 

He’s quick at the controls, and as soon as the door is sealed Armitage runs up to join him in the navigator’s seat, securing his safety restraints. “This thing has lightspeed, right?”

“Yeah- yeah, he wouldn’t let himself risk being stranded.”

The shuttle strains as it fights the magnetic docking clamps. Ren grits his teeth and flips the switches, growling as he clenches his fist and glaring violently enough that Armitage refrains from asking him if he’s  _ sure _ he knows how to fly this thing. Somewhere beyond them, the  _ Supremacy _ vibrates, and Armitages finds himself willing it with all his might to be the weapons systems. 

Ren frees them soon enough- Force-assisted, Armitage is fairly certain- and they’re out, sliding between the slowly closing blast doors. Armitage casts a look back to see the enormous dreadnaught erupting in white fire, far more massive than any missile damage should have done. “The kyber,” he breathes. “That’s going to have a shockwave, Ren-”

“On it!” 

They dart forward, Ren slamming an auto-nav course into the system and jamming the throttle forward to buy them time while the program runs. Armitage can see the shockwave hitting, tilting even the  _ Supremacy  _ with sudden force . “It's almost here, Ren.”

“Just a second… here we go!” He smacks the control just as the shuttle begins to shake and they jump into the white and black blur of hyperspace, looking at each other with pounding pulses.

“Well,” Armitage tries, willing his heart to even out, but the adrenaline in his system won’t let him. “Where are you taking us?”

“Just a moon, now. Near a hyperspace lane. We’ll plot a proper course from there.”

“Alright.” Armitage unbuckles himself, standing and ducking back into the main part of the shuttle. 

“Where are you going?”

“Looking for food. I can’t imagine this is going to be a short jump, we should eat something and I’m fucking starving.”

He also needs to  _ think. _ He finds a container of some sort of loose herbs that is  _ probably _ tea, judging from the smell, and sets about locating the proper vessel for it.  _ At least all these rations are better quality. _

He glances through the cockpit door as he prepares some sort of vegetable mix and puff bread, seeing as those are the closest things he recognizes to things he’s actually eaten before. After a minute’s hesitation, he pulls down another bowl and makes that up for Ren. 

_ What are we going to do. _

For all that he had been fantasizing about getting home, getting back to his lab and his research- he hadn’t considered what would happen if Ren was in tow. The man is effectively a weapon in his own right, too dangerous to keep on Hosnian Prime, especially when the politicians would be climbing over themselves to either control him or lock him away if they ever found out about him.

No. They’d need somewhere more private. Somewhere Ren would be given a choice. 

He brings the food back to the cockpit, earning a murmured thanks from his pilot. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts hesitantly after they’ve both had a chance to eat a bit in silence, staring off at the white flashes of stars as their ship hurtles by. “Are you planning to go somewhere specific?”

Ren shrugs. “Not really. I can make it so people don’t notice me, though. Blend in, til I figure it out.”

“There’s someone I know- she runs a… well, they’re sort of a counter measure to the Order. The Resistance. Maybe you’ve run into them. Anyway, I think she’d-” He’s cut off by Ren rather forcefully slamming his bowl back against the console and standing, a stormy look on his face and fists clenched. Armitage pulls back out of instinct, getting himself out of range of any incoming blows, and Ren suddenly looks- startled, like he’s ashamed, dropping his hands and marching out of the cockpit at speed, the door closing behind him. 

Armitage blinks. 

_ What the kriff was that? _

  
  



	7. Where We Go From Here

Hux doesn’t follow him, and Ren cannot tell if he finds relief in that or not.

_ Her. _

It feels like a trick of the Force. After all he’s been training for, to fight  _ against _ Skywalker and his ilk, the idea of even seeing his mother again is physically painful. The concept alone makes him nauseous.

_ Shit. _

He could have had everything. Could have stayed and  _ ruled-  _ who would Canady be to stand before him? They were weak before Snoke, they would cower before him as well. 

But they would  _ destroy _ Hux. 

What purpose would Hux serve, in an Order Kylo ruled? He could not work as an engineer, not in the climate of backstabbing and leverage Snoke had fostered. Hux would be stabbed within in a week by someone whose position felt threatened, or one of Kylo’s own enemies trying to punish him. Or worse, Canady and his ilk would rip Hux away from him, snatching the one thing that would give them a hold on Kylo himself.

He could prevent that, of course- keep Hux with him, keep him close, keep him from harm. But Hux would  _ hate _ that. Even if Kylo gave him a lab and tools and perhaps a small trusted staff, even if he kept him in his own bed every night, there would still be times when Kylo had to be away- missions, meetings, even a trip to the refresher, and there is no one else he would trust to keep Hux safe.

With a sigh he rests his head against a plasteel cabinet and closes his eyes. He shouldn’t care. Wasn’t that Snoke’s point? Caring is a weakness. Caring for Hux makes Hux into a weakness. 

Yet whether it is the will of the Force or the simple yearnings of the chemicals that manage his mind, he does  _ care.  _ He wants Hux with him- anywhere. 

It’s just that in his choice of  _ anywhere _ , the location that also contains his mother would not have been very high on his list.

The door opens and he does not need the Force to know Hux is watching him through it. “I hope you put this thing on autopilot, because I can’t fly it.” Hux’s voice is soft in the corridor yet it still rings loud, invading Ren’s body.  _ Kriff,  _ but he wants. All the time.  _ Want.  _

If sex alone would satisfy it he would have a much karking easier time scratching that itch.  _ Dammit.  _ “It’s on.”

“Good.”

He doesn’t look at Hux leaning, hip cocked, in the doorway. He doesn’t. He’s merely  _ aware _ of it, like he has been since Hux first shot back at him. Since he landed on the shield construction station. Like a buzzing in the back of his head.

“Well. I’m going to explore.”

Kylo lifts a brow, glancing over before he can stop himself. “It’s a shuttle. Not a lot to explore.”

Hux shrugs. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“Dunno. Sleep?” Kylo looks at him again. The cut across his face is still fairly bad, red and angry, even if the heat had cauterized it. “You should put something on that. Your leg too.”

“Worried about my looks?”

“Not really.” A wave of loathing- self-loathing?- rolls off Hux and Kylo instinctively knows that was the wrong answer. “I-”

“So where are you taking us, exactly? You must have someplace in mind, if my own suggestion was so horrendous.”

“I- no. Not decided yet, just- I know some of those people.”

Hux’s eyes narrow, searching, analyzing. “You fought them.”

_ To put it mildly.  _ “Yes. It’s… complicated.”

“Any well-populated planet- you would be at risk, you know. With what you can do. The Resistance will protect you, if they can be convinced you’re an asset.”

“I am  _ done _ being an  _ asset,” _ Kylo growls, the ferocity of his own anger surprising him perhaps even more than it surprises Hux. “I am not- I will not be  _ used _ by anyone. Never again.”

Hux crosses his arms. Even bruised, battered, and scarred, he retains much of his will.  _ Likely the only thing holding him together, really.  _ “Yes, and I’ve just spent several cycles confined to a closet your lot passes off as a detention cell. I’d prefer not to end up on a planet where you’re quite free and I’m stuck selling myself for passage on a ship back to the Hosnian system, thank you.”

He sounds annoyed.  _ Why is he annoyed?  _ Kylo really does look, but he can’t detect the reason through the Force. “We can drop you- wherever, really, I can make sure no one sees me-”

“Fine. Wherever. I’m going to find the refresher.” He turns on his heel and marches off, heading the opposite way down the corridor from the cockpit.

Kylo blinks a few times. “Alright,” he says, finally, still perplexed. 

_ What the hell was that? _

 

_ *** _

 

Armitage storms down the corridor. He shouldn’t have expected Ren to understand. Why would he? He must have been raised in the no doubt  _ staggeringly _ emotionally supportive environment of the First Order. He’d treated Hux more like a pet he wanted than a man he was-

_ Well. Certainly not that. _

Maker knows why it pisses him off so much to think it. That maybe they might have had a chance, an opportunity to be… something else. Something beyond the knight and the engineer.

Likely it’s simply too much to ask.

He finds the start of a suite ahead- the Supreme Leader’s, no doubt. There’s a small canteen with fine, soft rations- cheese and fruits and,  _ thank any gods listening, _ tea. Armitage makes it swiftly, pouring it into a shining metal container. 

“It’s not about you,” Ren’s voice rumbles from the doorway. The large man is not looking at him, eyes instead on the passing stars flashing by in the viewport.

“Excuse me?”

“The- why I don’t want to go to the Resistance. It’s not about you, it’s-  _ her.” _

“Her.” Armitage thinks, eyeing Ren closely. “General Organa? Why, does she have a bounty on you?”

Ren huffs quietly. “In a manner of speaking. But she’s too interested in keeping it quiet for all that.” He breathes, slowly, shooting a brief glance at Armitage and then looking away. “She’s my mother.”

“She’s what?” Armitage gapes as the pieces fall together. He’d heard, of course, of the son- the  _ dead _ son, or so everyone thought- all the Jedi had died, hadn’t they- no one had seemed quite sure how it happened, but it  _ had _ happened- “Ben Solo,” he breathes as the name comes to him. “Kriff.”

Ren bristles. “I don’t- that isn’t my name. Anymore.”

“And… you don’t wish to see her?”

His face shifts. Armitage has no need of the Force to see the hesitation, the fear, the flicker of anger. “It’s… complicated.”

Armitage watches Ren deliberately not making eye contact with him.  _ Complicated.  _ He knows about that. 

And he still feels no guilt when he remembers shoving Brendol into the abyss of a Coruscanti hangar chute. 

Leia, on the other hand, is alive. And whatever happened between her and her son, Armitage is sure neither of them would actually kill the other.  _ Considering that I am the only available expert on the subject…. _

“Why don’t you take me to her? I’ll talk to her people, and you can… decide if you want to as well. If you don’t, there’s escape pods somewhere on here, right? Just shoot me out, someone will pick me up.” Whatever they’ve had, he won’t be able to drag Ren with him if Ren doesn’t want to go, but somehow… somehow that’s alright. He has the feeling Ren could find him if he really wanted to. 

“You… don’t want me to come?” Ren sounds hesitant, unsure, and now he is looking at Armitage like he’s trying to find an answer Armitage doesn’t have.

He can only shrug in turn. “I won’t make you. Doubt I could, anyway. The option’s there, that’s all.” Ren grunts, and Armitage isn’t sure if it’s an agreement or not, seeing as he immediately starts opening cupboards and tossing out supplies. “What are you doing?”

“You need bacta for that cut or it will scar.”

“It’s cauterized, it will scar anyway.”

“Scar  _ worse, _ then. Don’t be pedantic. Here. Hold still.” Ren cups his chin, and Armitage can’t help but remember his broad hands elsewhere on his body, stroking and teasing- 

_ Oh for kark’s sake. Don’t start blushing now. _

The bacta is cold, sealed in with some sort of patch Ren digs out of the apparently ample stock of medical supplies. His leg gets the same treatment, Ren frowning at it. “You should have a droid look at this.”

“Unless this shuttle comes with one, that’s going to take a bit.”

“It probably does, actually.” Ren, steps back, but his fingers linger, tracing the line of the patch, strangely gentle. “You’re tired.”

“Yes, some of us do get tired after racing around a destroyer and nearly dying. We can’t all be-” He flaps a hand a Ren’s massive frame as he finds his tea again. “ _ Knights, _ or whatever you’ll be calling yourself now.”

“There’s a bed.”

Armitage chokes on his tea, feeling a bit of heat rise to his cheeks. “Sorry?”

“There’s- it’s the Supreme Leader’s shuttle, he liked… nice things. It’s big. Plush.” 

He lifts a brow.  _ It’s not as though we don’t have time to kill, and the sex was… quite good.  _ Even better, he’d have the use of his hands this time, a thought that sets his blood relocating to lower regions before he has time to think it fully over.  _ Might as well. While we can. _ “Is that a proposition?”

Ren gets closer, just within the normal bounds of personal space, experimentally putting his huge hands over Armitage’s hips, his thumbs dragging over the bone even through the mass of black fabric, his tunic ill-fitting, even belted, around Armitage’s slimmer hips. “Do you want it to be?”

Armitage answers by tilting his face up and running his hand through that luscious, thick hair. It’s just as good as he expects, and the absolute  _ perfect  _ length to grasp and pull Ren’s lips down to meet his.

“Eager,” Ren breathes when he’s able, and Armitage can feel him smirking.

“Shut up.”

Those broad hands wrap around his arse as they kiss, gentle at first, then squeezing, and Armitage is about to protest that he is not in fact a ripening fruit when Ren hauls  _ up _ and he has to wrap his legs around Ren’s hips for balance.  _ Oh kriffing hells.  _ He’s achingly hard, the layers of fabric covering him far too many in number, not giving him nearly enough friction against Ren’s generous abdominals.

Ren hangs on, one hand on his back, holding him in as his lips drop lower and teeth skim down Armitage’s neck, closing on his shoulder. He gasps and Ren takes it for the encouragement that it is, maneuvering with his other hand and with the Force, for all Hux knows, to slip under the tunic and yank his trousers down so Ren can cup him skin to skin.

Still, he does nothing to relieve Armitage’s aching cock, just torturously teasing him with soft kisses and hard bites, sucking a mark just above his collarbone while Armitage moans shamelessly, growing even louder when he feels Ren’s fingers skimming the cleft of his arse and drawing his cheeks apart so Ren can brush against his hole.

“Tell me there’s slick on this ship,” he groans, shifting so he can get his teeth around Ren’s ear and both hands wrapped in his hair, pulling without a hint of mercy in it- he knows Ren can take it, even  _ likes _ it, judging from the growling noise he gets in response. 

“Already pocketed it from the med kit.”

“Presumptive.”

“Shut up.” Ren hauls him up farther, putting him over his shoulder over Armitage’s protestations, which only earn him a fairly firm swat across the arse. They walk a span, Armitage making a point of undoing the tie binding Ren’s purloined robes as they do, and then he finds himself unceremoniously tossed through the air and onto a fine, soft bed.

The sheets alone are ludicrous, shining, smooth and decadently soft- the expense for them alone must be incredible, but the mattress is just as impressive, clearly made to support Snoke’s fragile frame with as much tender care as he could buy.

Armitage does not feel one iota of shame for intending to defile it with as many different methods as he can think of before they get to the Resistance.

 

***

 

Kylo wastes no time divesting Hux of his borrowed clothes. Black fabric scatters across across the floor and vanishes into the dark bedspread. The robes he stole slide off, pooling in a pile of molten gold. 

“I want to  _ ruin _ this bed,” Hux breathes in his ear between skin on heated skin and tongues on ears and throats. “If anyone needs to use this ship again they’ll have to replace it.”

“You want me to ruin  _ you,”  _ Kylo muses in turn as Hux grasps his hair again, pulling in a way that makes him grasp at the combined pain-pleasure of the tingle on his scalp. “Want me to make a mess of you on it?”

Hux whines as Kylo’s hand slides lower and wraps him, pulling in one long, languid stroke. 

He’d pushed away the memories of Hux beneath him, the sounds he made as Kylo took him, while he was still convinced it was better for both of them if they stayed apart. Those panted noises, the unrestrained way Hux came apart, was reserved only for his dreams.

No longer.

He takes Hux in his mouth, relishing it when Hux grasps his hair and pulls like he’s working a thruster, fucking Kylo’s mouth with that pretty pale cock. Kylo bathes him with his tongue, working him just to hear the responses, every nuanced noise that’s just for him.

_ Just me, _ his mind growls possessively. 

_ No one else. _

He has no guarantee of it- they’ve made no promises, exchanged no words of exclusivity. But he  _ feels _ it, in the same way he can sometimes simply  _ feel _ when things are wrong.

_ This  _ feels entirely right.

He presses Hux’s thighs up, burying his mouth lower, tonguing his balls and tonguefucking his hole before he summons the slick from his discarded robe and slides one of his own thick fingers in smoothly, watching Hux pucker and clench around him.

“You’re even tighter than before.”

“Yes, well, I’m afraid a decent fuck is not a benefit offered in your holding cells.”

“I’ll be sure to send a letter of complaint.”

Hux’s nails mark his back in long sweeping lines when he’s finally inside him, urging Kylo to pound him harder and screaming his name. 

After a nap, Kylo finds the refresher to end the string of disgruntled noises emitting from Hux regarding the state of their personal hygiene. They’re decadent about it, even though it’s a sonic, spending more time with their lips locked together than actually cleaning themselves.

By the time they reach the moon Kylo had mapped them to, they’re on another meal and into a stock of wine, both far more relaxed than they had been.

“Where is it, then? I need to program it.” Hux is being an absolute nuisance in the navigator’s seat- the few clothes they’d found on the ship are hardly the right size, and he’s amused himself by wearing the most inappropriate of the lot, a long under-uniform shirt that just barely covers his cock- and frequently fails entirely, considering that Hux keeps insisting on coiling his legs in the chair and protesting against Kylo putting any of his own regular black outfit back on.

Right now, however, he’s got his feet in Kylo’s lap and is vexing him more directly. “I’ve got to comm them. It is a secret.” He giggles when Kylo’s cock twitches against his toes, restrained by the ties of his trousers. 

“Hux… gimme the coordinates and then I can put the autopilot back on. I’m sure there’s another layer of sheets we can ruin.”

“Can’t- really, I can’t. But I do know who can.” He types the sequence into the comm system from memory- Kylo does not doubt that Hux has a truly impressive head for numbers, even slightly drunk- and waits. “No idea where they are, really- might need to send a transmission out, delay to send back, if they’re all the way across-”

They both jump slightly when a woman’s voice comes through requesting that they confirm a protocol. Hux looks almost surprised as he rattles that off as well, and he can hear it in the woman’s tone when she realizes who she’s speaking with.

“Director Hux? We thought you were dead!”

“As did I. I’m with a… defector,” he says, glancing to Kylo, who nods fervently. Defector is good. Organa’s son- that isn’t a designation he’s ready to use. Not now. Perhaps not ever. “We’re are in a First Order shuttle and need routing to an appropriate planet.”

“Confirmed, Director. Coordinates are being sent. You’ll be met by an escort there for a security review- you understand why.”

“Of course.”

“From there you’ll be brought to us.”

“Very good. Thank you.”

When Hux nods, Kylo closes the transmission, transferring the data to the nav computer and starting the jump calculations. “You’re lucky that was not a holo.”

“Oh?”

Kylo lifts a brow and glances pointedly down at Hux’s very visibly free cock. 

Hux just smiles and climbs over the seat onto Kylo’s lap. 

 

***

 

It’s not that they spend the  _ entire _ flight in various states of debauched undress.

But they do get close.

The journey is likely longer than it would be otherwise, comprised of a series of jumps meant to disorient any pursuers and hide their path, just in case anyone is watching. In the last leg now, Armitage is riding Ren in the pilot’s seat, listening to his lover- whatever else they might be, that designation is a certainty- growl in his ear. Armitage has discovered that it is immeasurably entertaining to tie Ren to the seat and slowly ride him, verbally barring him from using the Force to assist.

On the other hand, on their last leg Armitage also greatly enjoyed learning precisely how well Ren could control his energy by keeping him floating over the bed, out of range of the mess they’d left there. 

He could get used to this.

The alert that they’re nearing the end of the jump comes just when Ren’s getting close. “Ignore it,” Armitage breathes. “Focus on me.” Ren grunts, glancing  toward the console. Armitage grasps his face, ensuring their eyes are locked as he bears down, hard. “Just me.”

The shift in the hum of the ship marking their transition out of hyperdrive is masked by Ren’s roaring orgasm and the quiet hum of peace in Armitage’s own mind when he spills out across Ren’s stomach.

“Hux.”

“Mmm?”

“There’s an X-Wing in our viewport.”

Hux glances over his shoulder. Yes, that is an X-Wing. An X-Wing he knows. He leans back and clicks the comms on. “Dameron, don’t be a voyeur unless you’re invited.”

The pilot salutes and the X-Wing banks so it’s behind them, out of direct view. “You know, Hux, I heard there was a defector, but I didn’t realize you’d actually seduced your way out of the First Order. You’re gonna have to teach a course to all our operatives.”

“Coming from you, I’m going to assume that’s flattery. How is Mitaka?” Hux unties Ren as he talks, tossing him a cloth to clean up with. 

“Pretty good. He’s been augmenting up our ships. Same stuff he was doing with you, really, but he convinced me it wasn’t a great idea to go back to the Senate since they, you know. Pretty obviously were involved in the whole Arkanis thing. At least some of them. It’s been a mess, actually. Entire Hosnian system is kind of a shit show right now. Politics going to pieces left and right.”

“I’m afraid I wasn’t exactly getting regular news updates, Poe. You’ll have to catch me up.”

“The General might want to do that instead. Speaking of- if you have your hands back on the controls, we can get going. I am going to suggest clothes before you meet with her, though.”

“Thank you, Poe, I’m sure you’re the expert on clandestine reclothings.”

“That is… accurate, but I’m more serious now! The Resistance has a war to fight, we can’t just be ducking into the nearest unoccupied closet-”

Armitage smirks. “So Mitaka also talked you into monogamy?”

“That’s- fine, yes. We’re dating. Whatever.”

“I see.”

“You didn’t even introduce your- friend- or whatever, there. Does he talk?”

He lifts his brow toward Ren, lifting a brow, about to mute the exchange on their side to ask.  _ Which name? _ But Ren stills his hand, his broader fingers wrapping over Armitage’s slimmer ones.

“It’s Kylo.” 

“Alright. Well. Hope you know what you’re in for, Kylo. I mean I trust that Hux’s got decent judgement, but we’ve got to be sure. There’s gonna be, you know. Questions.”

“I know,” Ren says calmly.

“Okay. Well. If you’re both ready, then.”

Armitage lets the comm close, his chest unusually tight as he looks back to Ren, their hands still clasped together. “Last chance to run.” 

“Eh. Came all this way. Would be a waste, now.”

It’s something irrational that comes over him, making him lean over and press a kiss to Kylo’s cheek. Armitage can feel himself blushing, after, and Kylo looks vaguely surprised.

“What was that for?”

“Just- fly the ship, Ren,” Armitage mutters as he pulls his hand back.

“You find that romantic, huh?”

Armitage crosses his arms and leans back into the copilot seat, pointedly not looking at Ren and his stupid smirking mouth. “Shut up and fly the ship.”

 

***

 

“Are you ready?” Hux has found something decent to wear- plain black, for the most part. They look a pair, especially since Kylo has toned down his typical ensemble in an effort to look less overtly threatening. There’s nothing he can do about his size, but adjusting his clothing a bit apparently helps. Neither of them are quite in a uniform, nor fully in the free-for-all fashion Hux tells him the Resistance officers favor. It feels… unifying.

The helmet is left in the bedroom, tossed aside in a cabinet. Hux advocated running it through the onboard compactor, but Kylo’s fairly certain all that would accomplish is breaking the compactor. It might be an issue if someone finds it later- someone who recognizes it for the symbol of fear it is. He’d been more recognized by the mask and the saber than his name.

As for the saber, Hux is carrying it for now, carefully disassembled. It’s a sort of promise between them. Hux knows Kylo won’t run off without it- but if he’s not safe here, if this ends up being everything he’s afraid it might be… Hux will protect him until they can both leave. If he is discovered to be the monster that he is, they’ll figure out what to do. Together.

They stand together as the shuttle door opens, his heart beating fast and hollow, like he’s slightly outside himself. Kylo stands beside Hux, looking over those come to greet them. A small amount of security personnel flank the ramp- less than he would have allotted, though they don’t know who he is yet. The pilot, Dameron, is a man Kylo vaguely recalls from his younger years, now that he has a better look at him. The nervously excited man beside him that must be Mitaka, Hux’s escaped second in command, who pretty much bounces even to simply be acknowledged by Hux with a brief wave, clutching at Dameron’s hand excitedly. And….

Kylo swallows.

He can tell she knows before she even breaks through the crowd, a space instinctually opened for someone in power. They part for her because they respect her. Love her, even.

Her eyes are on him for a very long moment before she looks to Hux instead. “Glad to see you in one piece, Director.”

“It was something of a near miss, General.”

Her eyes flick to Kylo again and he struggles not to shift under her gaze. It’s more intense than he remembers. More serious.

Maybe that’s his fault. 

“And is this your defector?”

He blinks.  _ She’s… pretending.  _ Pretending not to recognize him when she obviously does- he can feel her so obviously through Force, she must be able to feel him as well.  _ Why? _

There’s only one reason. She’s protecting him. Giving him… privacy. 

He has to swallow to keep the rising lump in his throat down. 

“This is Kylo, ma’am. He is… the only reason I survived, really. Without him I would have been dead in a cycle.”

Kylo shoots him a look.  _ Without me you never would have been taken.  _

“Kylo. A pleasure.” She extends her hand. It’s small and delicate in his own. He’s suddenly and irrationally worried that he could break it. “We’ll need to speak with you both later, of course, but it looks like both of you could use a decent amount of sleep.” There’s a brief flash in her look that suggests she knows damn well at least one of the reasons why they haven’t. Kylo lets his eyes drift toward the ground. “Let’s get you two set up.” They follow her through the crowd, on to the building that must be the Resistance’s barracks. Kylo feels more keenly aware of her than he ever has before, even when he was small and she had the power to order him about. 

“I’ve set you up here, Armitage. Now.” She turns on her heel and Kylo realizes very quickly that the guards have vanished. “Will you be needing two rooms, or just the one?”

“Ah.” Hux looks at him, and Kylo shrugs back.  _ She knows. _ Hux blushes mildly but it’s still obvious on his pale skin.“The one is fine. Ma’am.”

“Mmm. Go ahead.  _ Sleep,  _ mind you.” She emphasizes the order with a pointedly arched brow, and Hux blushes more as he slips past her into the room. Kylo makes to follow and is quickly blocked by an arm across the door. “Is it really  _ Kylo _ now?” she asks him, quietly.

He hesitates, then nods. “That’s… I know how to be… this. I never knew how to be  _ him _ .”   _ Ben.  _ The jedi they all imagined he might turn into. The golden child. He’s too tarnished now, but the truth is he’d not been  _ Ben _ for a long time before anyone ever asked him what name he’d prefer. What he’d call himself in his own head. “It’s more… me.”

She nods. He’s not sure if she understands, but she’s willing to let him be himself, which is really all he can ask. “Alright. We’ll debrief you later. Don’t expect any special treatment.”

“I do not. Ma’am.”

The edge of her lip lifts just a little. “I’m glad you came with him. I hope he’s good for you.”

“I hope I’m good for him.”

She huffs a low laugh. “That sounds familiar. Go on then. And keep in mind it’s not that soundproof.” 

When he slips into the room, Hux is already laid across the bed, somehow managing to take up more than half of it despite his thin frame. Kylo lays halfway across him in retaliation, like he’s a long, bony pillow, and he’s pleasantly surprised to be rewarded with trailing fingers through his hair. “Not so bad, is it?”

“No.”

“She knows we’re-”

“Yes. She absolutely knows.”

“But she won’t-”

“You may still find yourself on the receiving end of a blaster. Too early to say.”

“Must run in the family.”

“Yeah.” Kylo exhales slowly.  _ Family.  _ Not a thing he’s considered in a long time.

“Are you alright? Seeing her?” Hux’s hand is caressing him, soothing. Tender, even, though if he said as much he’s sure Hux would pull his hair just to refute the point.

“Maybe. Better… better than I thought.”  _ It could be a lot worse. _ His uncle is not here, for one thing. That’s not something Kylo is ready to deal with. Definitely not now. Possibly not ever.

Hux’s other arm wraps about him, curling them into each other. “I’m glad you came with me. I thought you might want to go off, find yourself in the void of space or something you Force types like.”

Kylo smiles and rolls onto his back, dragging Hux to lay across him like a human blanket. “I’m sort of getting used to you being around. Be kind of inconvenient to change it.”

“Ah, I see. I’m  _ convenient.” _

“Mmmhm. Very.”

Hux splays out, turning his chin to use one of Kylo’s pecs like a pillow. “I suppose I find you acceptable.”

Kylo snorts, but the stroking of his hands across Hux’s back is fond. “Yeah. You’re not bad either.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the Kylux Big Bang mods for making all of this happen and to all of you for reading! It was a joy to work with QueenStardust and be blessed with her lovely art in this piece. Be sure to visit her @Queenstardust on Tumblr or @Queenstardust2 on Twitter and look at her other gorgeous works! 
> 
> I can be found @HastaLux on Tumblr, Twitter, and Pillowfort.


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